


Starstuck

by phooykazooi



Series: Starstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: (Not so) Reluctant Cat Person Dave, Aliens, Canon-Typical Violence, Culture Shock, Episode Related, F/F, God Tier, Kittens in Space, Language Barrier, Long-Distance Friends, M/M, Mind Control, Outer Space, Spaceships, Tags May Change, Temporary Character Death, Time Shenanigans, pesterchum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phooykazooi/pseuds/phooykazooi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider and your universe is DEAD. You have to find a safe place for your nubby-horned, alien companion in the DEPTHS OF SPACE. Under normal circumstances, you would be deader than your old universe, but you're no longer a MERE HUMAN, having ascended to god tier. The troll has not, but it helps that you hitch a ride on a FANCY SPACESHIP.</p><p>All you need to do is find your MISSING FRIENDS and you are golden.</p><p>>>AU after the scratch.</p><p><strong>USS Enterprise [UE]</strong> began texting <strong>turntechGodhead [TG]</strong> at ???<br/><strong> UE: Hello. This is Captain James T. Kirk of the starship USS Enterprise. We are on a peaceful mission of exploration.</strong><br/><strong> UE: My communications officer picked up an odd signal from this location. Can we offer any assistance?</strong><br/>--Now with FANART--</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost in Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and your troll buddy run into a black hole and then get picked up by spaceship (which, dude. A spaceship).

Your name is Dave Strider and your universe is dead. Individual timelines dissolve and rot to your senses. Threads unravel as you watch. They are severed and snipped clean away and fuck, you don’t even know how it happened. You are apparently in the depths of space. Galaxies are being born, will be born, have been born, and have died in this very spot.

You wrack your brain, trying to remember how you got here. You vaguely recall that you and Rose went somewhere, but you cannot grasp the details. You remember an inferno, being consumed by a green fire and then nothing. There was a brief period of intense, unyielding pain, and then black.

You spot a limp body floating freely about two hundred meters ahead of you. It is is eerily backlit by a glittering nebula so old it has no sense of age. Wild hair floats freely in the dead of space, creating the illusion of a halo from the sparkling nebula behind the body. A blue giant burns to your left some thousand light years away, two planetary satellites dragged to and fro by its demanding pull. The star is young, only one million, sixty-seven million, two hundred fifty-two thousand, three hundred and seven years old.

Your god tier status gives you life where there is none, but unless that is Rose or John, you bet the person in front of you is dead. You fly closer, dreading the face you will see. Whatever it is, it is not human. Unruly, wire-like hair does not conceal a pair of nubby, candy corn horns. The face looks male, and no older than you. His skin is pencil lead gray, eyes glassy as they stare listlessly in front of him. The sclera is mustard yellow, the area of the eyes where on a human is white. His pupils are the same unassuming shade of gray as his skin.

The heart has stopped less than a second ago. Is he a troll, like Terezi? You never had a chance to meet one in person, but from what Terezi says, and judging from the crappy drawings, they have horns. She loves making fun of you for being without them. Maybe… Maybe you can stop the time around him? You know you can, as solidly as you can feel the new currents around you. Surely it will not take much to interact with this troll’s time?

You concentrate on the area around him, reaching out to touch the threads connecting the troll to this new universe. They wash around your fingertips, dripping into your soul. You want them to pause, rest, stop. They will not listen. You frown and grip the threads in a tight fist. _Stop,_ you order.

They freeze in your grasp and the troll stops too.

Great. Now, you will find somewhere to set him down and revive him with some serious mouth to mouth action. With luck, this particular troll is not terminallyCapricious, that weird clown fucker. Or worse, carcinoGeneticist. That would be so embarrassing. People’s hearts stop all the time, right? Bro taught you basic first aide, including CPR. Your new buddy will be fine. You will make it so.

You fly over and take hold of the troll's splayed arm. The fabric of his hoodie does not give when you exert pressure; it is hard and freezing to the touch. Luckily for you, you are god tier. Therefore, simple things such as lack of atmosphere and below freezing temperatures apparently no longer effect you. You set your sights on the blue giant star and follow its gravitational pull to one of the planets it has wrenched into its orbit.

The troll dies on both of the planets. Future yous pop back to inform you of this inconvenient fact before they fuck off to their own timeline and likely cease to exist. You search for a cluster of stars that look the closest and bolt. Three hours (fifty-nine minutes, thirty-one seconds) later, a future you bitchslaps you awake.

Furture turntechGodhead [FTG] is pestering turntechGodhead [TG]  
FTG: wake up  
FTG: dont look so gobsmacked man you fell asleep and almost made a trollsicle so not cool bro  
TG: shit thanks me  
FTG: no prob  
Furture turntechGodhead [FTG] has stopped pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

A huge, red gear spins into existence in front of the future you. It rewinds haltingly, and he and his troll disappear.

So, it seems you cannot sleep. That sucks massive ass. More hours bleed by, solar systems dragging past. You check out any stable-looking planets, hoping one of them may be able to hold life. They do not. You continue. Complete time loops.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” you mouth at him after the third planet you come across ends in his death. He stares back with glassy, yellow eyes.

Through trial and error, you learn you can take catnaps. Anything longer than two hours gets you slapped awake by a future you. You experiment, set alarms on your iShades. You are woken less and less by other yous, and there is less need to head back in time to wake yourself.

A week later, your leg is crushed by a black hole.

* * *

You have been navigating an asteroid belt, trying not to get yourself or the troll smashed. This is not the first asteroid belt you encountered. While not often, you and Rose ran into a few on your quest for the Green Sun. A few liked to hover around solar systems, likely pulled by the gravitational pull of the central star. 

The first time you and Rose encountered an asteroid field, you did not believe your eyes. 

TG: what do you mean were in an asteroid field?  
TG: rose there are no asteroids  
TT: Don’t be silly, Dave. We passed an asteroid not even fifteen minutes ago.   
TG: well yeah but shouldnt there be like five hundred for every square inch or something   
TT: Of course not. Dave, this isn’t Hollywood. Space doesn’t work like how it does on TV.  
TG: how dare you  
TG: hollywood is the epitome of truthfullness   
TT: No, Dave. You see, while asteroid belts can span for thousands and thousands of miles, we can pass through several without even knowing of their existence. We have, as a matter of fact.   
TT: You just didn’t realize it because, regardless of what action-packed sci-fi movies have told you, it is very rare to find an asteroid in close proximity to another asteroid.   


This asteroid field is weird, though. Here, the asteroids are well within sight of each other. You have only seen about ten asteroids in the quest for the Green Sun and it is a little jarring to see so many in one place. The space rocks vary from size, some are smaller than a hamster, others bigger than your neighborhood from your late Earth. There are larger ones, too, shadowed by distance and marking a lonely path. Those should probably scare you more, but the ones that really get to you are the little asteroids, so small you can hardly see them. These things are going fast and the little ones could probably brain you and not even slow down on the exit.

You spend hours skirting the asteroid field, trying to find a way past it without having to go through this field of annihilation. You think you almost get it, but it is as though you blink and you are suddenly surrounded by giant rocks. You have not the faintest idea of how you actually got engulfed by the field, but you must have because you can see no way out. 

“The hell, man?” you mouth to yourself, confused.

You look around, searching for a less populated area not keen to get pulled any further in. Ah, there! You spot a small opening. With luck it will be a straight shot from here to the exit. Still, while the bigger asteroids are further away, you need to watch out for the smaller ones too—your poor cape can attest for that; there are already three holes the size of pennies. Personally, you are just thankful they got your clothes and not your supple flesh.

You are almost out of the belt, mostly intact and not a scratch on the troll. That is about where shit hits the goddamn fan.

In space, there is no force to slow an oncoming object. Unless it hits another object, its course will not alter. These asteroids are going _fast_. Faster than a speeding bullet, son. If one of these puppies hit you or the troll you are royally screwed. As it so happens, one of the smaller asteroids has a lock on your unsuspecting wrist. The asteroid is tiny, no bigger than your little finger’s nail. Your right hand is keeping the troll from wandering, held away from your body and making a bigger target.

That itty bitty asteroid blows a hole through your wrist.

A sudden, sharp pain radiates from your right wrist. It stings, like someone pinched the skin there. You yelp soundlessly. When you look, you spot a small hole in your sleeve of the Knight’s costume. You pull the troll closer to hook your left arm around his bent elbow, leaving both hands free. With your left, you tug up your sleeve to peer at what caused the sting.

It is not that the wound is big. No, it is about the size of a penny. What sucks absolute ass is that there is a gaping hole in the center of your wrist. You could poke a finger all the damn way through to the other side. Blood is already welling to the surface of the perfect circle forming droplets that bead away. One at a time, you twitch your fingers to be sure they still work. They do.

Awesome. You sorted through the deck Dave Sprite gave you and you are fairly sure you saw a first aid kit. You think about pausing to administer first aide, but it might not be a stellar idea when you have yet to clear the asteroid belt. Case in point: a huge space rock rivaling your whole apartment building in height is hurtling in your direction. It is coming fast, the dust from previous collisions spiraling from its surface.

You bolt straight to the troll, wrapping him in an aggressive hug, your cheek colliding with his nose. You turn your asses ninety degrees and near about break the law of physics, you book it so fast. You may even slow the troop threads of the space around the asteroid in a mad attempt to slow it. It would be nice to consciously manipulate time like that, but whatever. The asteroid passes without incident.

Holy fuck, you nearly shit your pants. Now clear, you hook your good arm through his bent knee (not only do you want to prevent him from wandering, you also do not want to spare the energy it will take to spin him head-up) and paw one-handed through your deck for the first aide kit. It occupies the same card as some tweezers and an empty bottle of apple juice. Which, what the hell future you, why would you leave an _empty_ bottle of AJ? Ignoring the sacrilege, you expel the desired object. It causes the other two to eject as well, but you store them nice and pretty.

You open up the kit, watch as everything floats out slowly. Lots of tubes, a box of band-aides, a sixteen-ounce bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and tons of bandages. You gather everything but the bandages and captchalogue the kit. Then, you fix up your wound. Your bro taught you how to handle little stuff, because training can be painful and oftentimes ends in blood.

“You gotta know how to protect yourself, little man,” Bro once told you. “I won’t always be around to teach you.”

When you finish with your wrist you realize: your fingers are tingling. It is like when you sit a certain way too long and your foot gets pins and needles. You can still move them, so you mostly ignore it.

You do not know it, but this asteroid belt is _not_ an asteroid belt. Those rocks were the remains of a solar system, once composed of five planets orbiting a supermassive star. It had more than three hundred times the mass of your late Earth. As the star neared its death, it swelled, destroying the two closest planets. Eventually, the fuel was exhausted completely and it subsequently collapsed into a black hole. It consumed the remaining three planets and those not-asteroids? It is not a _belt_ , but a _circle_. They surround the black hole on all sides, top, bottom, everything.

In your defense, you have not even graduated from middle school.

You do not realize something is wrong until your foot begins to ache. You check, but you see nothing that should cause any pain. The ache steadily climbs, inching up your leg and deep into your muscles until your bones throb. You recognize this pressure. Felt it when the Green Sun was born. Again when you woke in this universe and headed toward the white dwarf star.

You look down.

Sprawling galaxies twinkle up at you, thousands of them, spirals and ellipses and crescent shapes. Nebulae bathed in purple and red glitter in the distance, broken by battling asteroids. The asteroids circle below you, millions of space rocks dancing around each other, colliding, creating even bigger clumps of rock. Darkness stretches at your feet, unbroken and bottomless. Light _bends_ , it arches from the center of an unfathomable object, the center of which is unseeable.

Oh _shit_. You grip the troll’s ankle and prepare to skedaddle, but gravity is no easy thing to escape. It has already laid claim on you. Your leg kind of _clicks_ , like a joint popping, only it is your entire goddamn _leg_. A brief, hot sense of intense pressure, then searing pain radiates through your body, you can feel it down to the tips of your fingers. Then, your leg conspicuously numbs.

However, you do not pay much attention to your worryingly painless leg. You are too busy absconding.

You head straight up, in the opposite direction of one of the most dangerous naturally occurring events in the universe. The whole time, the black hole is trying to drag you back down. If you let it, if you get close enough, it will tear you apart, right down to your atoms. You do not feel as though you are getting anywhere, just staying in one place, fighting its unbreakable gravity. The troop threads shiver with your emotions, your orders to retreat. They vibrate behind you, bending and shifting to accommodate your will.

You burst through an invisible barrier, catapulting head over heels. You catch your balance without stopping, skirting hurtling asteroids to break past the belt. An asteroid about the size of an elephant blindsides you. You brace the best you can, curling your unoccupied arm over your face and waiting for impact. Almost without your consent, the troop threads of the asteroid _ping_. They shudder, they slow, and they are now under your complete control. The asteroid has indeed slowed. In fact, everything in your immediate vicinity has slowed to an astonishing degree. Hovering over the diameter of its rocky surface is a gear, similar to those future yous use when they are bouncing through the timeline and that you also take command of.

You collect the troll and continue on for some time. Yeah, okay, you may be a little anal about a ‘safe distance’, but whatever. When you rest for a breather, you go ahead and spin the troll right-side up to hook your busted arm with his. By now, you have utterly lost all sensation in your right hand, from the wrist down. You can no longer move you fingers. If you think too hard about it, you might just throw up, so you do what you have been doing this whole time: ignore it. Save it for a rainy day. You are the king of procrastination.

You should probably check your leg because it is no longer without feeling. As a matter of fact, it is reminiscent of someone hammering several hundred nails into half of your leg. Every movement you make, if you so much as consider twitching a toe, well. The shit ain’t good.

You do not check your leg. You pick out the shiniest clump of stars and head out.

The thing is, it is not a planet where you find shelter, but a spaceship.

 

You are circling near a gas giant’s many moons, trying to determine if the troll can survive there. It looks promising—you think you see water on its surface. But fuck, for all you know that is, like, liquid nitrogen or some shit. You do not know jack shit about these things. A notification pops up on your iShades. It looks like a plain old text message. 

USS Enterprise [UE] began texting turntechGodhead [TG] at ???  
UE: Hello. This is Captain James T. Kirk of the exploration starship USS Enterprise. We are on a peaceful mission of exploration.  
UE: My communications officer picked up an odd signal from this location. Can we offer any assistance?  
TG: sup  
TG: what kind of assistance are we talking here like  
TG: free help from the bottom of your heart or ill owe you if i say yes  
TG: cuz if so ill just fuck off on my own merry way  
UE: The Enterprise is a Federation vessel offered to any and all who have need of her. We are more than willing to offer all the help we can.  
TG: cool  
TG: some help would be nice i guess not that we need any  
TG: just fyi im a super powerful god capable of destroying suns and shit so  
TG: be warned that if you do any funny business ill fuck your shit up and youll die a horrible death

 Shit, man. The sleepless days are not good for your processing capabilities. Naps are nice and all but. Now that your attention has shifted to the iShades it is like. Crap, you do not feel well. Still, you are a Strider and Strider’s do not let simple things like sleep deprivation get to you. Especially mysterious people who may not be nearly as cuddly as trolls.

UE: There is no need to worry, we won’t do anything to harm you.  
UE: Is there anything we need to know in regards to your physiology?  
TG: like what  
UE: The atmosphere on our ship is set to Terran needs. What atmosphere do you need to survive?  
TG: well i mean considering im in the absolute and unforgiving vacuum of space thats a good question bro lemme take a sec to consider it  
TG: actually wait yeah  
TG: do you know what a human is or like an earthling or some shit  
UE: As a matter of fact, our crew is primarily composed of humans. Would this be suitable for you?  
TG: wait there are humans on there  
TG: youre a spaceship  
TG: holy shit thats so rad  
TG: no but yeah  
TG: terran atmosphere is cool  
UE: Alright. We’ll be dropping out of warp in a few minutes.  
UE: What about a doctor? Do you need medical professionals?

You think about that. You will eventually need your own doctor, but the troll probably needs one more (your leg throbs). You can hold off for a while longer, but he was in space for so long his heart stopped beating. Or whatever the troll equivalent is for hearts. Plus, you are pretty sure space has a lot of ambient radiation. There is no protective atmosphere to eradicate the effects of stars or whatever. You decide to say yes, you need a medical professional. 

TG: yeah my buddy needs one but like hes not human and i dunno what medical shitll do to him you know  
TG: it could melt his brain or make his weird troll veins explode  
TG: shit wont be cool  
UE: No need to worry.  
UE: We have one of the best doctors on this side of the galaxy. He'll be in good hands.  
UE: What are your names?  
TG: some people call me  
TG: the  
TG: fuck i got nothing  
TG: dave strider knight of time  
UE: Okay, Dave Strider Knight of Time.  
UE: We’re coming out of warp now. Please do not be alarmed.  
TG: why  
TG: alarmed at what

You are incredibly thankful for the warning because, holy shit on a stick, it comes out of _nowhere_. Like there you are, chilling with your toes near about in the (likely poisonous) exosphere of some huge-ass planet’s moon, then BAM. This huge object whams itself into your face. You are so startled, you have flash stepped nearly a mile from your current position, Caledfwlch uncaptchalogued and at the ready. Of course, the distance does not do shit to make this thing less intimidating.

You guess… it could be a ship? What it looks like a is a flying saucer from cheap ass sci fi movies, and the really bad ones for that matter. Only, this thing is _huge_ and it is not a cheap knock off. That mile you flash stepped in a completely understandable fit of panic? It barely looks like three _steps_. This ship is gigantic! A saucer is attached to two skimpy looking arms. They are pulsing pool water blue. You assume those are the engines for this monstrosity.

God, you peed your pants a little.

TG: shit man!!!  
TG: thats like the worst warning in the history of warnings  
TG: nearly jumped to a different galaxy bro so uncool what the hell  
UE: Our sincerest apologies. We did not mean to startle you.  
UE: But if you're prepared, we’ll beam you aboard now. Are you ready?  
TG: yeah man totes prepared but wtf is beaming  
TG: sounds painful  
UE: It’s not painful in the least. Beaming is a safe and efficient mode of transport that will instantly have you in our transporter room, where the captain—myself—and my chief medical officer will be waiting.  
TG: so its a transportalizer  
TG: alright cool those things always made me a little tingly though but i dont see why not  
UE: You’re ready?  
TG: yeah man  
TG: do your fucking worst  
UE: The beaming process is beginning now.  
USS Enterprise [UE] has stopped texting turntechGodhead [TG]

Caledfwlch captchalogues itself back into your strife specibus and you double check the frozen stream of time around the troll’s slack face. It looks okay, but you fortify his troop threads anyway. Beams of light begin to bubble around the two of you, rotating in ellipsis like John’s fireflies on LOWAS. The bubbles thicken and the area around you begins to fade as countless balls of light take up the entirety of your vision.

Beaming is not much different than transportalizing. However, with the transportalizer, you always felt a rush of displaced air, as though the machine was squeezing you into existence and booting any and all molecules out the way. With this, it does not feel like anything. The transportalizer was notorious for forgetting things if you moved. Clothes and captchalogue cards were a favorite. Once, you lost your pants because your leg had a small muscle spasm (no one let you live it down). As such, you do not move a muscle and keep your Knight’s senses tuned on the time stream. If these guys turn out to be unsavory, you must be prepared to split ASAP.

But shit, you have been running on nothing but catnaps for two weeks (a day, four hours, twenty minutes, three seconds). You do not know how much longer you can keep going.

The spheres clear and you find yourself facing an old enemy: gravity. Unprepared, you fall flat on your ass and accidentally knock your chin on one of the troll’s horns. For such nubby things, they sure are solid. Your buddy does his best impression of a plank. He looks ridiculous, face-down on the transporter pad with his limbs akimbo and barely horizontal. His head is not even reaching the floor, partially held up by a bent arm. You take the liberty of hauling him face-up. If he ends up behind you, it is simply a happy coincidence.

“Sup,” you say from the floor. You do not attempt to stand because wow would it be painful. Now that you are under gravity’s unrelenting grip, you feel all sorts of aches and pains that were not apparent in space. Your head throbs in time with your wrist and your mushy leg.

There are four, no six, people total in the room. Funny, you were told there would only be two. There are four huddled around what you assume are the controls for their transportalizer and two hanging out at the doorway, trying to be subtle. The two at the door have red shirts and black slacks. If you did not know any better, you would say those are khakis. Gross. You spot some sort of weapon at their hips.

“Welcome to the _Enterprise_ ,” says a blond in the only gold shirt. “My name is Captain James T. Kirk, of this ship.”

The man who spoke seems human. He looks like a total military douchebag and exudes this aura of ‘I’m in charge, so suck it, bitches.’ God, you hate military pricks. He is blond and blue eyed, the only man wearing gold. He is young, in his twenties (twenty-nine years, eight months, four weeks, six days, two hours, twenty-seven minutes, thirty-one seconds). You bet you could take him in a fight.

Closest to the door and to the blond’s left, so close they are nearly brushing shoulders, is a man who you doubt is human. His ears are a give away. Where a troll’s ears resemble a goat’s, this dude has, like, elf ears. And… is he greenish? You definitely see a green hue to his skin, like where a human’s is kind of pinkish. Pretty cool. He is one of the two wearing blue with those god awful khakis.

Kirk nods at the pointy eared dude. “This is Commander Spock, my first officer.”

Oh, God, they _are_ military pricks.

Next, Kirk gestures with an open palm at the guy directly to his right, which is your left. “This is my chief engineer, Montgomery Scott.” Scott is the skinny guy in the middle. He stops staring curiously at the troll and gives a little wave. You are too tired to uncaptchalogue Caledfwlch and politely inform this guy to stop ogling alien lifeforms. He is wearing red, just like the two people chilling at the doorway. Probably has the eye searing khakis, blech.

Lastly, Kirk indicates the other man in blue. “My chief medical officer, Doctor McCoy.” McCoy does not have pointy ears and he is watching the two of you like how Bro appraised a wound you were trying to downplay. He lingers at your leg, but shows no sign he sees it is broken. He is the oldest out the whole group, his face weathered and hair slightly less unruly than the troll’s. You watch as he flicks his gaze over to him and frowns.

Kirk returns his gaze to you and puts on friendly face you are very aware is a used primarily for kids. “Which one of you is Mr. Dave Strider, Knight of Time?”

“That’d be me,” you say, raising your hand. It feels like it weighs a fucking ton. “This is my alien space buddy I was talking about. Not really sure which troll he is.”

McCoy steps out from behind the transporter controls. He moves slowly, as though any sudden movements would set you off. “You said your friend needed some medical attention?”

You do not nod. It might make you faint. “Yep. He was kinda in space for a while before I got to him. So I froze him. He’s frozen.” Shit, a couple of weeks of constant movement and suddenly you cannot form coherent sentences? Bro would be shaking his head at you.

“ _Froze_ him?” McCoy demands. “What do you mean froze him?”

“We did something stupid,” you say ambiguously. “Ended up in space. Turns out, mere mortal fleshlings can’t survive there, so I stopped the time around him until I could find somewhere to help him.”

You sense the immediate tension that fills the entire room. What, they must have something against time travel?

The guy with the pointy ears, Spot? Spork? Fuck if you know. He speaks up. “Are you implying that you are able to control time?”

“Yeah, man. I’m the Knight of fucking Time. It’s, like, in my job description. But seriously, my friend could use a doctor cuz his heart kinda stopped before I got to him, so…”

McCoy darts forward, a strange device in his hand. He has already stepped onto the transporter pad before you even realize he has moved. Time snaps to a halt. Caledfwlch considerately uncaptchalogues itself into your left hand, since your other one is useless. It is a struggle to tap into your god powers and float, but you somehow manage it. You do not put any pressure whatsoever on your fucked leg, but instead hover inches from the ground to create the illusion of standing.

You brace your bad arm against McCoy’s chest, your left clenching on Caledfwlch’s hilt. It’s awkward, but you doubt you will need to actually fight. No, you are just giving the hasty bastard a warning. You settle the broken sword a few inches from McCoy’s throat; you do not actually want to slit his throat by accident when you unpause your troop threads.

Feet braced, you order time to resume. The man almost barrels you over, but you are prepared. He stops pretty fast when he figures out the position he is in. So does the whole room, in fact.

“Sorry, bro,” you say, not sorry at all. “This date’s moving too fast, you know? Gotta take shit slow or you’ll end up with a broken sword at your jugular.”

The captain takes a single step forward, hands held in the classic ‘see, look at my hands, I’m totally unarmed, no prob, be cool’ pose. “It’s okay. Dr. McCoy just wants to help, that’s all.”

“Whatever. Next time, go slower, dipshit.” You grudgingly captchalogue Caledfwlch and float back, just a bit. “If you do anything, though, we’re out. And I’ll take this whole ship with me, I can totally do it.” You cannot do that. Not without some serious planning and Rose’s majjyck power sticks of doom.

McCoy calmly kneels next to the troll, running his weird device over him. The object reminds you of a Polaroid camera you used to have. It is probably melted beyond recognition in LOHAC or has been looted by the natives. You stay back, let the man do his thing. He does not look happy with whatever he finds.

“Jim,” he says with a heavy frown. “The kid's friend…”

You are too tired to roll your eyes, but you give a shot anyway. “Yeah, he’s gonna flip his shit when he wakes up.”

McCoy looks politely concerned for your sanity.

You elaborate. “I control time, Doc. He’s frozen literally the way I found him. You know CPR, right? Or am I gonna have to do that, too?”

McCoy purses his lips and rocks back on his heels. “Say I believe you and this kid is, in reality, frozen at a certain point of time. What will happen if he... unfreezes?”

You shrug. “Then he’ll be back to normal. Except, you know, his heart won’t beat.”

McCoy waved his hand. “That’s no problem, we can deal with that in sickbay. Can we move him or would that negatively effect his condition?”

You snort. “You could kick him right now and it’d be like it never happened.”

McCoy nods. He taps the A-shaped pendant on his chest. “McCoy to sickbay, I need a stretcher at the transporter room.”

From that teeny little pendant comes a woman’s voice, clear and crisp. “A stretcher’s on its way, Doctor.”

“McCoy out.” He taps it again and eyes you. “You sure you can stand, kid?”

You raise your eyebrows and glance down. You are hovering about an inch from the floor. You have to swallow the compulsion to deny that you are kid; it will only strengthen their views. “I think I’m good.”

“Uh huh,” says McCoy. “And don’t think I didn’t notice your leg.”

You shrug. “Doesn’t hurt. It can wait until Gray and Gritty's done.”

“I require clarification,” Spot blandly says. “You claim you have the ability to control time. Did this power somehow allow you to survive in space without the aide of any visible breathing apparatus or environmental suit?”

“No, that is because I’ve ascended to a higher plane of existence,” you reply with a straight face, being sure to stare him dead in the eye. “I’m a god. The vacuum of space would have killed someone of lower standing, but I’m superior to mere mortals.”

As you are speaking, McCoy uses his thingamajig to scan you over. “No,” he says slowly, “It says you're completely human.”

“I am,” you agree. “But I’m also a god. I mean, I was supposed to be. But then, me and my friends kind of broke the universe. Our universe.”

Kirk and Spot share a look. “A different universe?” Kirk repeats.

You nod. “I guess.”

The door chimes and slides open with a hiss. A blonde in blue strides in with a single stretcher. Only, it is not like any stretcher you have seen; the top part looks like a bed, that is for sure. You assume the mattress is basically a black yoga mat. The bottom half is supported by nothing. It is a fucking hovering stretcher. That is fucking awesome.

McCoy and the blonde lift the troll onto the stretcher. They have a hard time finding a position that will not cause him to slip. You will not be much help, so do not do anything but stand around and watch in case they do something to him. They do not.

The troll settled, the blonde frowns at you. She is about the captain’s age (twenty-seven years, eight months, three weeks, six days, two hours, four minutes, fifty-nine seconds _God damn it stop counting_ ). Her hair is darker than yours and styled in an elaborate bun that Jade would kill for. She purses glossy lips and says, “Would you like to take a seat as well? There’s more than enough room.”

“I’m a big boy, ma’am,” you tell her. “I can float. Honest.”

Her eyes narrow. Her chin lifts. You sense doom. “I insist. Sit down, sir.”

You sit the fuck down. “You make a compelling argument,” you inform her. Once you sit, you try to ignore the troll’s gray nose brushing your thigh. The area around his head has the most room for you.

“So I’m told,” she replies with a placid smile.

McCoy snorts. “No one says no to Nurse Chapel, son.”

Okay, you know what? Enough with the ‘kids’ and the ‘sons’. You twist and glare at the doctor, hands fisting in the neck of the troll's hoodie. “Okay, look. I get it: I’m young and youthful, your parental instincts are going off the fucking wall. I am exuding child pheromones or some bullshit and you react like concerned lusii—fuck, I mean parents. Just lay off the ‘kids’ and the ‘sons’, alright? I’m getting sick of it. I’m thirteen, not three. Jegus.”

Silence prevails. McCoy’s eyebrows are nearly touching his hairline. Nurse Chapel looks concerned. You do not dare look at anyone else in the room, focusing instead on the oh so interesting floor tiles.

Kirk clears his throat. Your eyes are now focusing on the wall on the opposite side of the room. “You are completely correct, Mr. Strider. It won’t happen again. Mr. Strider?”

You tear your gaze from the wall to stare at the captain. “Yeah?”

“It will not happen again,” he reiterates. He looks meaningful. Very serious. “You have my apologies.”

“Mine too,” sighs McCoy. “Won’t happen again.”

Wow. Now you feel like a tool. Kind of overwhelmed too. “Thanks,” you manage, dazed.

“Doctor,” Kirk continues, “take these young men to sickbay and let them heal up a bit. Mr. Spock and I will be back to talk to them when you deem them ready.”

“You bet, Captain,” the doctor says agreeably. To Chapel, “Go get some food prepared—soup, broth, that sort of thing. Not anything solid, but with a high caloric intake. I don’t think Mr. Strider has had much to eat for a while.”

“Yes, Doctor.” She strides out the door.

McCoy grips the handlebars that protrude at Karkat’s feet and pulls it out of the room. He takes the lead and wheels the two of you into the hallway. The bed does not jolt, which your leg is thankful for. This ship is very tidy, you notice. The hall is clean and wide enough for three people to walk shoulder to shoulder. There are also lots of windows. Like a shit ton. Past the glass, countless stars twinkle. You pass by at least four panels showing pinprick stars before you get to “sickbay”. There is also lots of activity; people power walking from one place to another. They always give McCoy a respectful nod, but pretty much ignore you.

The sickbay is very high tech. Futuristic beds line the walls and there are funny monitors over each bed’s head frame. Part of the room is sectioned off; you assume that is an office for the doctors or something. A black woman lounges on one of the beds. She has strange protrusions on her cheek bones, like spines, and her head is shaved. A Native American male nurse is wrapping her ankle. Another young woman is fiddling with what looks like an iPad.

McCoy wheels you and your alien buddy to the nearest bed and gets the other guy’s attention, the one who was wrapping the woman’s ankle. With his assistance, they lift the troll onto it. You decide to claim the bed at his right, which is also next to the black woman with the weird cheeks. She smiles at you in greeting. Her teeth resemble the color of coal. You nod coolly in reply.

“Alright, Mr. Strider,” McCoy says, plucking a strange-looking syringe from his supplies next to the troll’s bed. “Undo your voodoo. You said his heart stopped?”

“Yep. I got to him a few seconds later.”

He nods. “Nurse, I need you to stand in if I need an extra pair of hands.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he says.

“Okay. Go ahead, Mr. Strider.”

You remove your command of the troll’s barren troop threads. They unravel without a hitch and resume their original pace. He slumps, his arms and legs no longer akimbo. His head lolls. McCoy immediately places the head of the syringe against his throat and depresses the plunger. When nothing happens, he snatches another syringe from the cart and does the same thing. He pauses, eyes the monitor above the bed. Your heart sinks.

Suddenly, the troll’s future blooms outward. His troop threads revive, thicken and spiral in countless directions. His chest raises hesitantly.

“Oh, thank God,” McCoy gushes. “I had no idea how these chemicals would react with his bodily functions.”

“Is he okay?” you demand, leaning forward. “Is he gonna wake up soon?”

“Give him a few minutes. I gotta do some tests, check how our average medical supplies will affect him. Otherwise, he should be fine.” He leaves.

Nurse Chapel appearifies at the foot of your bed, holding a tray. “Mr. Strider? I’ve a got some chicken broth for you. And a glass of water as well.” She holds out the tray. Your stomach suddenly remembers you have not eaten in some weeks and attempts to devour itself.

“Oh my God, this smells so good,” you practically moan, taking the tray from her. Aww, the broth even has a spoon and everything. How nice. You place the tray atop your knees and take the spoon, skillfully twirling it into the broth and slurp it up. Holy sweet baby Jegus, you think this is the best food you have ever tasted in the face of your life, never mind if there is nothing solid. It is like drinking heaven. You are seriously floating all up on Cloud 9, only the clouds are steamy and delicious. Before you forget, you down the water too, and holy shit, you are thirsty.

The troll groans. His brows furrow and his eyes flutter open. He frowns at the ceiling so hard you can almost sense his confusion. Then, his face clears and he bolts upright, looking around frantically. He spots you. You casually slurp more broth, feigning nonchalance.

“Sup,” you manage around your mouthful.

What he replies with is _not_ English. There is a lot of hissing and weird, garbling clicks. You were totally not expecting this. You guess you should have. He is an alien, after all. You suppose the game must have been translating for you, like how you constantly have internet connection. Oh shit, he is frowning at you and wow does that expression look intimidating. His eyes have flecks of red in the otherwise neutral gray irises. His fangs are especially scary, black lips pulled back in a snarl.

“Well fuck,” you say.

He rolls his eyes and pulls a sylladex card from from its deck. Out pops a… laptop? You think it is a laptop, but are all those legs necessary? It crouches defensively on three pairs of insectoid legs, then skitters to settle over the troll’s legs. He types quickly on the alien keypad and you are bombarded with angry gray text. Karkat’s text.

turntechGodhead (TG) is being trolled by carcinoGeneticist (CG)   
CG: ALRIGHT ASSWIPE, WHAT THE FUCK HAS YOUR DUMB FRIENDLEADER DONE THIS TIME?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =>EDIT: I went ahead and changed the mass of the star that became the black hole from 30x the mass of our sun to 300x. That was bad math on my part, sorry. Also, I finally added colors!
> 
> Thanks for sweaters_and_scarves about the information on asteroid fields and stars; I have fixed a few errors you were so kind to point out for me :3
> 
> ==> Please, please, please leave kudos! All of your comments mean the world to me, but kudos are essential as well! <333
> 
> ===> Next: Dave and Karkat argue, Nurse Chapel is a force to be reckoned with, and Dave finally gets a reply from one of his chums.


	2. Perils of Arguing With a Troll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and Karkat get into an argument that leaves one of them in tears. Luckily, Nurse Chapel is here to defuse the situation. An old friend finally contacts Dave.

So here you are, slurping a delicious bowl of chicken soup (minus the noodles, chicken, and anything remotely chewable) with _Karkat_ typing away on his weird alien laptop. After nearly two weeks searching endlessly for somewhere for the lowly mortal to survive, it has been Karkat fucking Vantas you have been lugging around. God, you are never, ever going to let him live this down. Saved by a hairy monkey. Yeah, well, suck your hairy balls, Karkat, because you got owned!

TG: uh why do you immediately assume egderp is responsible what if it was one of you guys  
TG: come on karkles be considerate youre hurting my feelings im like choking back tears for reals  
CG: I’M BLAMING JOHN, NOT THE ENTIRETY OF YOUR SPECIES, EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE BEEN RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DESTRUCTION OF EVERYTHING I KNOW AND LOVE.  
CG: OKAY, MAYBE NOT, BUT I’LL DAMN WELL BLAME YOU FOR IT ANYWAY. BUT SERIOUSLY, WHERE ARE WE?  
CG: SHIT WAIT A MINUTE, IS THAT AN ADULT? DAVE ARE THERE ADULTS HERE?  
TG: uh yeah it’s not that weird for there to be  
TG: oh wait you guys dont have adults on your planet right  
TG: well dont worry its all cool theyre here to help honest  
TG: speaking of john it prob was his fault though just this once  
TG: so i think he did the scratch but he mightve messed up or something because i cant help but notice that my life has not been rewritten  
TG: i woke up in space with you floating pretty nearby and saved your sorry ass then i took off looking for somewhere where you wouldnt choke to death or something  
TG: eventually i got a text from the captain of a ship and guess what  
TG: this is a  
TG: mother  
TG: fucking  
TG: spaceship  
TG: how rad is that bro this is a fucking spaceship  
TG: anyway he asked if i needed help and transportalized us on board this sicktastic ride offered to patch us up too  
CG: LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT. YOU'RE FLOATING ON BY, MINDING YOUR OWN BUSINESS, WHEN THIS RANDOM ASS SPACESHIP COMES ALONG AND OFFERS HELP. OUT OF THE BOTTOM OF THEIR BLOOD PUSHER. NO STRINGS ATTACHED.  
CG: *AND YOU SAID YES??*

You blink at the screen, a little surprised at the aggressive tone. Your antagonistic senses are tingling. You (sadly) finish up your _oh Gog so good_ chicken broth and put it next to you, out of the way. You really hope Karkat is not gearing up for a fight, because you are honestly not sure how well you will be able to handle it. Under normal circumstances, insults would blow right over you, no problem, but right now? Your stomach is full for the first time in two weeks (a day, four hours, twenty minutes, three seconds, God dammit, _shut up_ ) and why in the fuck is he so angry? He would have died out there and you would have starved eventually (you think) so why is he trying to pick a fight? You turn your attention from your shades to your companion, hoping to read his expression.

He looks _pissed_. His eyes are squinted at his laptop, shoulders hunched and jaw clenched. When no answer from you is forthcoming, he shifts his attention to you instead. He narrows his eyes, curls his lips from his teeth to show their sharp points. His face is alien, the cheek bones too sharp, the eyes slits like a cat’s. You are not going to lie, it gives you the creeps. He hisses, a guttural, animal sound rattling from his throat and taps his computer insistently with a shiny claw.

TG: whoa man chill  
TG: gog damn what is your deal i was trying to make sure you werent going to die horribly on some shitty planet in a shitty solar system  
TG: if id known you were going to bitch so much i wouldnt have bothered  
CG: WHILE I APPRECIATE THAT, IT DOES NOT EXCUSE YOUR COMPLETELY MORONIC BEHAVIOR IN REGARDS TO YOUR OWN FUCKING SURVIVAL.  
CG: FOR FUCK’S SAKE, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? YOU DON’T KNOW JACK SHIT ABOUT THESE GOOD SAMARITANS, STRIDER! FOR ALL YOU KNOW, THEY’RE GOING TO SELL US INTO SLAVERY OR DISSECT US. MAYBE BOTH.  
CG: WHAT IN GOD’S GOOD NAME MADE YOU THINK “OH I KNOW, I’LL WHOLE HEARTEDLY TRUST THESE STRANGERS THAT APPEARED OUT OF DEAD SPACE. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING CAN GO WRONG.” IS THAT WHAT WAS GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD?  
TG: no karkat what was going through my head was that i was tired as balls you were good as dead and i didnt know where in the hell we were  
TG: you know what fuck you  
TG: im too tired for this bullshit  
turntechGodhead [TG] has stopped pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]  
turntechGodhead [TG] has blocked carcinoGeneticist[CG]  
turntechGodhead [TG] has unblocked carcinoGeneticist[CG]

  


You exit out of the chat client, pretend you do not notice the new notifications. True to your predictions, your eyes are burning and your throat is tightening. Oh _shit no_ , you are not going to cry, not in public. You clench your hand into the thigh of your Knight’s costume, hoping to stave off the shameful tears. Take deep breaths, bro, you will be fine. You shove a hand beneath your shades, wipe the liquid before it can fall. It does not help, the tears just keep coming. God, how childish can you _be_?

Nurse Chapel must have some sixth sense when it comes to tearful patients, because here she is now, walking leisurely in your direction. Her expression immediately becomes alarmed. “Mr. Strider, is something wrong? Are you in pain?”

You shake your head, clear your throat. “No, it’s not that. I’m cool, dude, just, uh. My friend here is being cranky.”

Chapel slants her gaze to Karkat, who you studiously do not look at. “I see. If he’s giving you a problem, we can move you with minimal difficulty if you need us to.”

That is actually very touching, but… “That won’t be necessary, but thanks. He’s all bark, no bite. I’m just,” really emotionally vulnerable.

Chapel nods. “Alright. Well, would you like some tissues?”

You chuckle wetly, wipe another rebellious tear away. “Yeah, sure. Never say no to tissues, it’s like, a universal rule. Like stairs. Do, uh. Can I get some more apple juice, too? And broth? I’m still kinda hungry.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back. Oh, does your friend need anything while I’m at it? Is he thirsty or hungry?”

“Maybe. I’ll ask.”

You do not want to ask. You consider lying to Chapel, saying that thanks, but he is good. You pull up Pesterchum anyway, because you may be a jerk but you are a not a total assbutt.

turntechGodhead [TG] is now pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]  
TG: do you want anything to drink asshole  
CG: WHAT?  
TG: do. you. want. any. thing. to. drink. you. utter. ass. hole.  
CG: IS THIS A RHETORICAL QUESTION? LIKE, IF I SAY YES ARE YOU ACTUALLY GOING TO GET ME THE DRINK OR JUST LAUGH AND SAY “FUCK YOU”?  
CG: EITHER WAY, I GUESS I WOULDN’T MIND SOME WATER.

“He says he wouldn’t mind some water.”

“Okay,” Nurse Chapel says. She smiles at both of you and leaves.

You sit in silence for several blissful moments. Well, okay, it is not very blissful; you keep trying to stifle your crying, but it kind of devolves very quickly into hiccups. You shades keep flashing but you pay them no mind. After the fourth notification, you decide _fuck it_ and unequip your faithful iShades into your character screen. You tell yourself they were more of hinderance than a help anyway and you are now able to pitifully wipe your eyes unheeded. Chapel returns swiftly with a tray containing broth, two empty glasses surrounding a pitcher of water, and miracle of miracles, a snazzy cup of apple juice. There is also a box of tissues, though the brand is unfamiliar.

“Here you go,” she says, handing you the tray. You take it, need to do some heavy-duty one handed acrobatics to keep it from spilling. She pours the empty glasses to the brim with water, then grabs one of them for Karkat. “Don’t forget to drink some water as well, Mr. Strider. And your friend's name, what was it?”

“Karkat,” you inform her. After that, you are too busy eating to speak.

You do not mean to watch, but you observe Chapel as she gives Karkat his water. He accepts it suspiciously, as though he expects her to upend it onto his head rather than let him drink it peacefully. You hope she does splash him. He would deserve it. He catches you watching ( _damn_ ) and taps his laptop meaningfully. You raise your right arm to flip him the bird, but your hand just flaps weakly. You scowl at it, betrayed.

Apparently, Nurse Chapel also has a _wounded patient_ sense to go along with her _crying patient_ sense. She zeroes in on you, asks if something is wrong with your hand.

“Eh,” you reply casually. “It doesn’t hurt.”

That does not convince her of your health. She stands next to the bed you are reclining on and asks, “May I see your hand?”

You are fucked either way, so you say, “Sure, why not?” and stick your arm out for her to grasp.

Throughout your week in space, you had been consistent in changing the bandages. You did not, however, have any other supplies on hand to clean out such an impressive wound, and it has begun to fester. It is irritated, the wound has puckered and adopted a frankly scary shade of red. Last time you checked, puss had begun to leak, like mucus dripping from some poor bastard’s stuffy nose. You are not super surprised at the results, having no clue what an asteroid could carry. Hell, for all you know some bits have been left behind to infect the puncture. It is not like you have any fine tools to remove teeny tiny space rocks. 

“I’m going to remove the bandages, okay?” Chapel says.

You shrug, acting unconcerned. “‘Kay.” Spoon more broth into your mouth and ignore the taste of your tears. At least the hiccups have subsided even if your quiet sobs have not.

True to her word, she unwinds the bandages carefully, but you do not feel it. It is disconcerting, seeing someone touch you and being unable to feel the sensation. It freaks you the hell out. The wound has gotten worse in the day or so you have last checked. A disgusting yellow substance sticks stubbornly to the bandage as she tries to pull it off and oozes sullenly out of the wound. Your wrist has swollen to the size of a baseball and is an angry red near the hole. You can no longer see straight through it, which you have no idea is a good or a bad thing. Judging by the nearly green film, you think not.

You turn away, stomach rolling.

“When did you get this?” she asks calmly.

“About a week ago.” (Five days, four hours, thirty-five minutes, forty-eight seconds, _stop,stop,stop_ )

“Hm.” She opens her palms, and you put your spoon down into your half-empty bowl to grip it. In her mirroring hand, the other lays, loose and pliant. “Can you squeeze my hands, as hard as you can?”

You can with your left, but your right does nothing, no matter how hard you try. It does not so much as twitch. “My left’s good, but,” you pause to brush your cheek against your shoulder in order to dry it. Sniffle a bit. “But my right’s shit.”

“I can see that. There’s no need to cry, Mr. Strider, we’ll have you right as rain in no time. In the meantime, how about you tell me how you got this wound?”

“An asteroid. Didn’t see it coming and it, uh, blew straight through my wrist. Pretty gnarly, right?”

She gives you a sardonic look, but her lips twitch. “Can you describe how you felt when received this wound?”

“Well, nurse, I was feeling kinda nervous…” you start with a watery grin.

She looks like she is trying very hard not to roll her eyes. “I mean the _physical_ sensation, Mr. Strider. Was there any tingling, any numbing to the limb?”

“Yeah. I uh, was heading to this asteroid belt because I thought, you know, that usually means it’s hanging around a solar system or something but. I wasn’t paying attention I guess, and this tiny asteroid says hello to my poor, unsuspecting wrist. No big deal, right? Just a clean through hole, I’ll just wrap it up and be on my way. A few minutes later, my fingers start tingling, like, ‘hold up, Dave, shit ain’t right’. Then it just—wham! _Nada_.”

“No sensation whatsoever?”

“Nope. Not a fucking thing.”

She nods at Karkat. “And him? Did he sustain any injuries?”

“Nah, I took care of him. Even if he blew up at me for it. You’re an asshole,” you tell him.

“Vff _rrrr_ ck,” Karkat replies.

“Okay,” Chapel interrupts. “Do you have any other injuries?”

“Uh, well. Only a little one.”

“Where?” she asks, resigned.

“Well, you know that asteroid belt I was talking about? It, um, wasn’t around a solar system. At least not anymore.” You pause to blow your nose in a tissue.

“Uh huh.”

“It was actually a black hole. I got a little too close and. My foot broke. Because of its gravity. And maybe my leg, too.”

“I’ll go get the doctor,” she says with a sigh. She gives your good hand a friendly squeeze and leaves to fetch McCoy.

Karkat seizes this opportunity. “Dhaev,” he hisses in a horrible approximation of your name. He says some other things in his language, likely profanity. You are pretty sure you hear no vowels at all. “Dh _aev_!”

“ _What_?” you bark back.

He knocks on his laptop’s screen and lets out a single, gurgling hiss.

Fine, whatever. You equip your iShades and pull up Pesterchum.

TG: what  
CG: LOOK I'M SORRY OKAY? I DIDN'T MEAN TO HURT YOUR FEELINGS, OF WHICH I WAS UNAWARE YOU HAD. SO. SORRY.  
CG: SINCE YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY NOT GOING TO READ MY EARLIER MESSAGES, I’LL ASK AGAIN: WHY ARE WE HERE AND WHY DO I FEEL LIKE BARKBEAST SHIT?  
TG: i already told you some ship picked us up and for some reason you took hella offense to that  
TG: you gonna yell again cuz if you are im blocking you  
CG: NO, I'M NOT GOING TO YELL AGAIN. 

Doctor McCoy comes quickly, wielding the device that reminds you of an iPad. He pauses at your bed, says, “How are feeling, Mr. Strider?”

“Well, Doctor, I’ve been fine in the last seventeen minutes, six seconds you’ve seen me,” you reply.

He rolls his eyes. “Nurse Chapel told me you lost all motor control in your right hand and your leg is broken. Sounds like quite the week.”

“One week, five days, four hours—” You cut yourself off, almost choke. It is difficult, unimaginably so, trying not to count down to the second.

“Mr. Strider?” McCoy begins, alarmed. You hold up a trembling hand in response, get control of yourself. Karkat rumbles behind you, concerned. Well, you think it is a concerned rumble, hard to tell. It is not a snarl, so. Once you are positive you will no longer spit out the time, you nod in affirmative reply. McCoy continues. “I’ll examine your hand now, okay?”

He pretty much does almost exactly what Chapel did. Does it hurt, Is there any tingling, Can you please squeeze my hand as hard as you can, so on so forth. When he gets to your leg, though, that is when the problems truly arrive. He asks, How did you get it, On a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest, ten the highest, how would you rate the pain? Around sixteen, you humbly inform him. He hums, touches the hem of your pants and attempts to raise the pant leg upwards to get a good look at your hella fine ankle. He tells you he must remove the cloth.

“‘Scuse me?” you say. “I don’t know, Doc, I like you and all, but ain’tcha a little old for me?”

McCoy rolls his eyes, crosses his arms. “Look, kid. Mr. Strider. From what I can see of your leg, it’s bad. To see the rest of the damage, I’ll need to remove the pants in order to examine the wound properly. If, however, you would feel more comfortable with Nurse Chapel, I can call her.”

You snort, blow your nose again. “S’alright. I was just fuckin’ with you.” You do not want to move an inch more than you need to, so you just unequip your lower garments, go ahead and ditch the god tier slippers. You are careful to keep your underwear because, wow would that be embarrassing. Now free to look at your leg since you encountered the black hole, you survey the damage. You nearly barf at what you see.

You once Googled images of foot bindings for a school project. They were horrendous, feet twisted in unnatural, grotesque ways and stuffed into shoes three times smaller than the foot. That is remarkably what your own foot resembles. The arch has seemingly cracked, causing your toes to brush the heel of your fucking foot. The toes have become pinched, curled inward as though someone has crushed it in half. It has swollen to rival a baseball, black and blue and old blood has congealed where pieces of the bone are poking through. Your leg is also rank. It is one gigantic bruise, dark and sickly-looking. You look away before the chicken broth resurfaces.

Doctor McCoy takes one look and says, “You need to go into surgery right now. Nurse Chapel!" he hollers. Then, "How long has it been like this?”

“Uh. A few days?”

“A _few days_?” he parrots incredulously.

Nurse Chapel walks next to McCoy, gripping the iPad. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Go get a stretcher, I’ll need your help getting him into the surgery room. You said you got this from the event horizon of a black hole?”

You do not know what that is. “No, it was just,” you sniff, wipe your snot away with the tissue. “The gravity, I guess. What d’you mean I gotta go into surgery?”

“Mr. Strider, your leg is trying to match the consistency of mashed potatoes and your foot can only be repaired in the surgery room. So, this is what we’re going to be doing…”

CG: STRIDER  
CG: STRIDER WHAT’S HAPPENING  
CG: THE ADULT IS GETTING LOUD AND WHAT IN GOD’S GOOD NAME HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG?  
CG: HOLY SHIT EATING CHRIST ANSWER ME RIGHT THIS SECOND OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL DO SOMETHING DRASTIC. VERY DRASTIC. THE WORST OF THE DRASTIC.  
TG: dude chill your tits hes telling me im gonna have to go into surgery to fix my leg which i was kinda expecting in the first place  
TG: its kinda rank amirite  
CG: WAIT, YOU MEAN YOUR LEG *ISN’T* SUPPOSED TO BE THAT COLOR?  
TG: you mean the color of the deepest darkest of black blue and some pretty rad purple i dunno man i guess im just gonna have to live with it i guess  
TG: live with the knowledge that my legs will be forever discolored and completely mismatched in every way  
TG: jk hell no its not supposed to be this color its why im going into surgery in the first place  
TG: oh the doctor wants me to tell you that i will probably be super unresponsive for like  
TG: two days?  
TG: yeah just til i get my sleeping schedule back on track  
TG: i honestly dont think itll be that bad i mean ive gone way worse than a couple weeks of insomnia ya know  
TG: hell prob use my rad shades to talk to you so heads up  
TG: whelp looks like i gotta go see ya on the flipside i guess  
CG: DON’T YOU DARE GO!!  
timetechGodhead [TG] has stopped pestering carsinoGenetisist [CG]  
CG: FUCK

-_-_-_-

 

You dream of shining gears, ticking and tocking and taking as they strive to strike seconds. The gears are great and gigantic and gallant, and sometimes they shrivel, but they still shine, still strive, screaming and striding. You pull, you pluck, you plant, you preserve and plunder. Fingers flick, flat or full to create and castrate and cluster. Time flows through you. It grinds and grates, gears tick and tock and take. You observe, you ogle, you are obliterated and you are shriveled but striving, screaming and slipping through strokes. You are put together, pulled apart, plucked and putrid.

All the while, great gears gleam and glow. They bloom and bleed, and that is your blood dripping dreadfully down, dropping desolate and dutifully into the dark while the gears grind gravely.

-_-_-_-

Waking up is a horrendous process.

Nurse Chapel, likely on orders from her evil, evil boss, rouses you ten hours and fifteen seconds after you were put under for surgery. You have always been a light sleeper, had to be when living with Bro, but it takes several tries to make you awake and semi responsive. “You’re an incredibly heavy sleeper, Mr. Strider,” she says. “I know you’ve had a rough week, but sleeping for more than ten hours is counterproductive to your health.”

“Oh,” you murmur, squinting up at her. You are huddled in a thick comforter that you do not remember receiving. Still, it is ridiculously warm, so you do not particularly care where in the hell it came from. It could have been handed to you by an eldritch monster from the Furthest Ring, been like, _HERE YOU GO, DAVE STRIDER, TAKE THIS BLANKET ELSE I WILL BOIL YOUR BLOOD AND CONSUME YOUR SOUL_. You would have been like, _thanks dude totes appreciate it wrap me up all nice and warm you evil monster you_. You pull the blanket over your head, roll onto your left side and curl up sleepily. You bury your head beneath the pillow for good measure.

Nurse Chapel takes great offense to this. “Mr. Strider, you need to get up now.”

“Don’ wanna. Lemme sleep.”

“ _Mr_. Strider. If you do not get up right this second, I will have to recycle this nice cold glass of apple juice. If I recall correctly, you are very fond of it.”

Hm. AJ or more sleep? Pft, it is a total no brainer; apple juice trumps all, no questions asked. You quietly lower the sheet and slowly sit up. Very, very slowly because holy bejesus your head hurts _so much_. “My head hurts,” you humbly inform her. “Gimme.” You make grabby hands with your left hand, the good one, without opening your eyes. Cool glass touches the back of your fingers and you grope blindly until you finally grip the cup. It is far heavier than you expected, like that shit weighs twenty pounds or something, what the hell. Unthinkingly, you raise your other hand to prevent it from spilling ( _oh no, not the apple juice_ ) and—low and behold, your hand, it lives!

“Holy shit,” you slur, amazed. “Look, look. It’s healed. Lookit the fucker, don’t hurt none at all.” To emphasize this, you flop your hand harshly. No pain or tingling whatsoever. Wow. “Y’all ‘mazing. Amazing.” You frown, re-evaluate your speaking patterns. Shit, your accent is slipping through. You dropped it sometime in second grade, but it now slips through when you are especially exhausted or otherwise worked up. It is super embarrassing, but usually unnoticeable. “Stop it,” you tell yourself. “Accent’s dumb.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and drink some of that juice, Mr. Strider?” Chapel inquires. “Then you and your friend can head to the cafeteria, get some proper breakfast.”

“‘Kay,” you agree, taking an amicable sip of the aforementioned juice. But what friend is she talking about? Your only friends are missing, scattered somewhere within this new universe. Unless one of them has somehow reached the ship? “But the universe is big,” you mutter to yourself. To clarify which friend, you ask the nurse who is with you.

“Why, Mr. Vantas of course," she replies, sounding amused. “A Mr. Karkat Vantas.”

Karkat Vantas? Wait, wait, the troll who was in space? Oh no, his troop threads are no longer frozen, he must be…! You crack your eyes open, which they are distinctly unhappy about, and search frantically for him. Unfortunately, the room is too bright and you have just woken which causes some pain to your poor, poor eyes. You decide to rely on your godly senses, as it is much friendlier to your headache. Karkat’s troop threads are merrily marching about him, interacting without difficulty to their surroundings. You hesitate, confused. To Chapel, you ask:

“Why’s Mr. Vantas unpaused? He ain’t s'posed to be. He gotta be froze, y’know?”

“Frozen? No, I don’t think he needs to be frozen. He’s quite safe here, as are you, Mr. Strider. Now, go ahead and keep drinking, will you? That’s a champ…”

Through nurse Chapel’s insistence, you finish the drink. You are very disappointed by this, not only because it is gone, but also because it tasted extremely bland. Worse than water because water, at the very least, would not have any taste to it. You suppose it is not all bad though; your throat is no longer so scratchy with thirst. You manage to peel your eyes open as well, which is a nice bonus. Everything is far too bright and you have to squint unhappily. Where are your shades? They sure would be nice right about now.  
“Nurse Chapel?” you call hopefully. “Where’re my shades? They’d be mighty nice right ‘bout now, y’know?”

“They’re next to your bed, Mr. Strider,” she replies. “Doctor McCoy spoke with Mr. Vantas after your procedure, to tell him what to expect and how to take care of you. The drugs should be wearing off now.”

“Oh. Okay.” You look around for your shades, find them where Chapel said they would be. Gratefully, you put them on and sigh at the immediate relief. The apps are a little bright, so you fumble your way to the settings and lower the brightness. Then, you notice your notifications are flashing at you. Clumsily, you open the application, skipping all the previous dialogue.

TG: yo  
TG: im like super tired n shit super duper sleepy but nurse said theres food lets get goin asap ya hear  
TG: i no ur there u sent me a shit ton of messages that i didnt read  
CG: HOLY SHIT, IT LIVES!  
CG: I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SLEEP FOR A LOT LONGER.  
TG: i wanna but i cant  
TG: the nurse wont let me bc shes mean  
TG: but she said theres food in the meat hall im hungry lets go gog o  
CG: YEAH ALRIGHT, I'M UP FOR BREAKFAST. THE DOCTERRORIST GAVE ME SOME LISTS OF STUFF I COULD EAT PLUS SOME FOR YOU.  
CG: HE SAID YOU CAN’T HAVE ANY SOLID FOOD FOR A WHILE BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T HAD ANYTHING TO EAT, BUT HE DIDN’T GIVE ME ANY DETAILS WHY. HOW LONG WERE WE IN SPACE?  
TG: fifteen days, five hours, fifty-nine seconds  
TG: fuck dammit i was doin so good didn’t count seconds or nothin  
TG: *didn’t  
TG: *DIDNT  
TG: fuck me im so tired  
CG: YEAH, UH, MAYBE WE SHOULD GO GET SOME FOOD NOW  
TG: good plan  


Damn is this headache a killer. The shades help, as they always have. Your eyes are ridiculously sensitive to light, you have gotten a lot of grief from bullies and such because you would need to wear them inside buildings. Well, you would have gotten grief if you had not been trained to fight since you were old enough to pick up a sword. They tend to leave you alone if you dislocate a wrist or leave a big enough bruise. Your bro would always fist bump you and buy some ice cream when you got in a fight.

Headache slightly eased, you sit up more fully and search for Karkat. He is exactly where he was when you went out to surgery, laptop on crossed knees and grumpy expression turned to you. You give him a thumbs up and (gently) jerk your head to the door. He gives an explosive, dramatic sigh, as though he was waiting hours for you respond, then captchalogues the computer and hops to his feet. You are far slower getting off the bed, because you are still affected by the drugs and do not feel like exasperating your headache. You stand carefully, putting your weight first on your previously uninjured leg, then the other.

“Halle-fuckin'-lujah,” you crow, bouncing happily on both legs. “Lookit this.”

It is a little stiff, you will admit. It is similar to when you do a workout without stretching, the muscles tense and only a little painful. It is far superior to the horrific pain from hardly ten hours ago, so you are satisfied.

“Mr. Strider,” Nurse Chapel says. She was fiddling with one of the devices that seem like an iPod, but places it on your bed. “About your wrist, you should expect some numbness for about an hour but it should pass without any incidents. If you will hold out your hands for me?”

“Yes'm,” you say, letting Nurse Chapel take your wounded hand. Or, once wounded, you suppose. Her hands are not much bigger than yours, but you are still a growing boy, dammit. As she warned, you feel nothing from her, not even the pressure. It gives you the heebie jeebies, just as it had before they healed your hand in the first place. This time, though, you can squeeze back when she asks you to, even if you cannot feel the pressure.

“Alright,” she says happily, stepping back. “You and Mr. Vantas should come back tomorrow for a check up. However, if you feel any tingling or if the numbness persists for more than two hours, come straight back to the medbay.”

You tap your heels together and stand to attention. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Out, you two. Go get some food, you must be starving.”

-_-_-_-

“Hey, Karkat. Look at my wrist.” In the hallway, you raise your wrist until it hovers inches from the troll’s flat nose and twist it enthusiastically. “Don’t hurt at all. I mean, can’t feel it neither, but I can fucking move it.” You pause, narrow your eyes. "Either. Fuck."

Karkat rolls his eyes and forces it down. “Nnass _thrrrrrrc_ khunnnst.”

“Did we even get an escort? Where the hell is the cafeteria anyways?”

A soft, feminine voice trills from the speakers, “To reach the cafeteria, simply enter the turbolift and declare your intentions to go to the cafeteria. The turbolift will take you to the nearest room available. I will instruct you further.”

You pause, startled. Surreptitiously, you take in your surroundings, searching for the speaker of the voice. “Uh. That’s really nice an' all, but who is this?”

“Apologies. I am the ship’s computer. If you have any questions pertaining to the nature of, well, anything really, then just ask me.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. Computer.”

“Of course. The nearest turbolift is three corridors to your left.”

“Dhaev, ueezzzk?” Karkat asks. He is watching the area warily, just as you were. His fingers tense, preparing for a weapon.

“It’s cool,” you tell him, raising your hand at him palm up. “Just the omniscient computer. Nothing to worry about.”

“Indeed,” the computer replies shrewdly.

Well, at least you do not need to worry about getting lost. Dying as a result of some strange mechanical malfunction, on the other hand… Hopefully, she is simply an automated response system and will not, in fact, gain an autonomy that will make her a threat to all of humankind. Still, she knows the way to the food, so you follow her directions and find the turbolift without incident. She tells you to state the floor of the closest mess hall and when you mention that you do not have that knowledge, says that she is aware. She tells you the deck number (whatever that is) and you get the feeling you should memorize it so you do not have to ask her to repeat herself.

The cafeteria is pretty big, but there are not many people eating. Maybe it is because it is so late in the day? Not that you can tell the actual time of day, but the troop threads surrounding the ship indicate that most of the crew is asleep. Great, it looks like you are nocturnal for a while. There are several circular tables capable of fitting perhaps six people, but most of them are empty. A grand total of six men and women are spread throughout the room, eating mechanically. A few glance from their food to stare curiously at the two of you, but quickly look back to their meals. 

Well, that is not helpful. You do not even see a lunch line.

The black woman with the sharp teeth and the cheek contusions from the sickbay is cutting a shrieking meat. She stabs it ruthlessly and the sound of the creature cuts off. The silence may be even worse than the shrill sound. You are a little more frightened of the computer, so you take the lesser of two evils and beeline for the woman. 

“'Scuse me, ma’am,” you say, politely staying several feet away from her and her extremely sharp knife. She pauses in the tearing of the creature and raises her eyebrows at you. Her eyes are dark as well and the pupils are strange, reminding you of a goat’s eye. “Can you do me a huge favor an' point me in the direction of the food? My buddy gets bitchy when he don't--doesn't get breakfast.”

Karkat hisses grumpily.

“Sure,” she says, standing smoothly. “The replicators are right this way.” She walks like a predator, lithe and without a waste of movement. It sets you on edge just to watch her. “You’re that kid Lieutenant Uhura found floating in space, right?”

“What, does everybody know about me?” You reply, trying to match her pace. Your leg was already cramping from the long walk here, it does not appreciate the sudden movements. “Is there no such thing as privacy in this universe?”

She gives you a toothy grin. Her fang-like teeth glint like obsidian. “You kidding? There’s no such thing as privacy, not on this ship. Okay, here’s the replicator. You know how to work it?”

The woman stops at a flawless metal contraption. It has the appearance of a refrigerator cut in half and bolted to the wall. The uppermost half, very futuristic, is raised a few feet past your ruefully short head. In its center is a screen with no doubt important settings, beeping and blinking at you. The bottom half of this not-refrigerator is separated, the middle scooped out. You reach in and grope the inside of the contraption, expecting glass or some other see through substance. You hand encounters nothing but air. Pretty cool.

“Not a damn clue,” you reply, retracting your hand.

“Just tell it what you want, and it’ll give it to you. Go on, give it a shot.”

You stare at the replicator. Its screen blinks steadily back. “Uh. Some apple juice, I guess.”

A glass appearifies in the center of the replicator, in the space where the two halves of the device separate. Once it solidifies, you take it and sip the juice thoughtfully. It tastes _wonderful_. As always. 

“Pretty neat.”

“Isn’t it?” She agrees. The woman holds out her hand. You shake with your free hand, and internally wince when it turns out you are using your still-healing hand. You grip her hand in what you hope to hell is a firm handshake. “Name’s Lieutenant Hu’set. Nice to meet you.”

“Same. Dave Strider an' Karkat Vantas.”

After that, she leaves. Karkat quickly mans one of the nearest tables, uncaptchalogues his laptop and opens it.

CG: ALRIGHT, HERE’S WHAT WE CAN EAT…

You are gathering your chicken noodle soup with actual chicken and noodles when your shades ping with a notification. Thinking it is only Karkat, you pull up Pesterchum and open it.

turntechGodhead [TG] is being pestered by gardenGnostic [GG]  
GG: hey dave!!!!  
GG: omg its about time you showed up online!! >:(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: A new passenger comes on board: lonely Charlie Evans. Sure, he's a little weird, but surely he won't cause too much trouble...?
> 
> EDIT: The accent persists!  
> => Please, please, please leave kudos! All of your comments mean the world to me, but kudos are essential as well! <333


	3. The New Passenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jade updates the boys on her status. Dave falls in love and Karkat shares some disturbing troll culture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Some vague, non graphic sexual abuse is mentioned. See the end for more information.

“Let me get this straight,” Captain Kirk says, rubbing his forehead. “You and your friends played this mysterious game that destroyed _your_ Earth and sent you on this universal journey to defeat… a winged dog. The same winged dog that killed your universe and somehow catapulted yourself and your friends out of said universe and into this one. Am I right so far?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you reply. You do not tell him that Jack Noir was actually a carapace who rebelled against his queen and stole her ring, which made him into the aforementioned winged dog creature. And then, he went on a goddamn killing spree. “Uh, we’re also not sure where he is. Strictly speakin’. Speaking.”

Captain Kirk drops his hands and nods slowly. “Starfleet will have to be informed about this,” he mutters. “All right. Thank you for your time.”

“Aight,” you say, standing. You stick your hands in the well-hidden pockets of your knight’s uniform and head for the door, eager to hook back up with Mr. Nubby Horns and continue the conversation with Jade. You completely forget about the door, almost taking a header right into the damn thing, but it swishes open before you embarrass yourself. “Later, Cap’n.”

“Good bye, Mr. Strider.”

You happily pull up the pesterlog and immediately sense the need for a drastic change of subject.

GN: he ate *four* bowls of soup???  
CG: YEAH. WHY, IS THAT UNUSUAL?  
GN: well no, but it is a little worrying, to be honest :O  
CG: HOW IS IT WORRYING? ISN'T IT GOOD THAT HE'S EATING SO MUCH?  
GN: well, ordinarily, sure. but if hes eating so much and so quickly... and you said you were in space for two weeks, right?  
TG: i know im eatin so much that my stomach has extended to such an extent that it may develop its own gravitational pull start pullin in unsuspectin people and trolls be circling my chub like asteroids  
TG: but enough about my dietary habits and gradual transformation into a major planetary body  
TG: Harley you said you were in space then what  
TG: *harley*  
TG: you clearly found an actual planet that wouldnt kill off your troll  
GN: first of all, mister, youre not getting out of this that easily!!  
GN: but fine. well talk about it more at a later date  
GN: second, kanaya is no ones troll but her own, get your shit straight, strider :p  
GN: in all seriousness, i was kind of surprised at how quickly i found a solar system with a habitable planet  
GN: i thought it was going to take a few weeks AT LEAST, but nope!  
GN: i mean, even if it did, it would have been ok because im carrying you guys planets and the consorts took care of us  
GN: omg johns lizard things are SO CUTE!!!! <333  
GN: just all of the hearts  
GN: anyway, i actually just traveled for a couple days before i saw the space stations from their orbit around a habitable planet  
GN: i was really scared that they werent going to be friendlies, but it all turned out fine!  
GN: what about you? Karkat says youre on a spaceship?? sounds awesome!!  
TG: hell yeah im on a spaceship  
TG: i still cant get over that  
TG: karkat wasnt too happy when he found out tho  
CG: EXCUSE YOU, YOU WOULD BE UNDERSTANDABLY UPSET IF YOU SUDDENLY FOUND YOURSELF IN AN UNFAMILIAR LOCATION SURROUNDED BY ADULTS AND IN PAIN.  
TG: boo hoo hear me complain  
TG: ya'd think hed be more supportive of the guy who saved his toosh  
TG: *you'd  
TG: *youd  
TG: fuck it i dont even care no more  
TG: btw have you heard from rose or john or anyone?  
TG: honestly it was annoyin for the first coupla days now im just straight up worried  
GN: well, no i havent, but..... dave, are you ok?  
GN: youre kind of off right now and its a little worrying to be honest :c  
TG: yeah im fine its just the space trip wasnt too friendly on lil ol me  
TG: the doc had fix me up mighty good so some of my behavior is partly from the meds and partly sleep deprivation  
TG: most of it is sleep deprivation actually  
CG: DAVE, I AM GOING TO ASK YOU SOMETHING AND YOU WILL ANSWER TRUTHFULLY. IF YOU DON’T, I WILL HIT YOU. YOU ARE LITERALLY SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME, IT WILL BE PAINFUL.  
CG: WHAT HAPPENED WHILE WE WERE IN SPACE?  
CG: JADE, I NEED YOU TO DO YOUR HUMAN FRIENDSHIP THING AND ACTUALLY MAKE HIM ANSWER, BECAUSE EVERY TIME I TRY, HE JUST DEFLECTS AND CHANGES THE SUBJECT.  
CG: IT’S NOT EVEN A GOOD SUBJECT CHANGER.  
TG: theres not even nothin ta  
TG: theres nothing to talk about ok   
TG: we were lost for a coupla weeks seriously no big deal  
GN: my human friendship senses are tingling, mister!!  
GN: when you were in space, what about food and water? rest?? shelter???  
GN: dave you didnt sleep at all did you!  
TG: ok firs’ of all y’all need to get off my back ‘bout this ok?  
TG: if i sleep, karkat dies he wouldve been a trollsicle and i wouldve been luggin ‘round a corpse and god dammit y’all are actually making me so angry im using apostrophes and commas wtf  
TG: gimme a few days to catch my breath ‘fore y’all start railin’ on me okay?  
GN: ok  
GN: im really sorry we were ganging up on you, its just were super worried... :’(  
CG: YEAH. JESUS, I NEED TO STOP MAKING YOU YELL. I NEED TO GET IT IN MY HEAD THAT UNDER THAT WHOLE "COOL KID" EXTERIOR THERE IS AN ACTUAL SENTIENT BEING WITH EMOTIONS.  
CG: I'M SORRY TOO.  
TG: alls forgiven i guess  
TG: im overdue on my nap and its making a lil cray cray so  
TG: i get you guys are worried i do  
TG: but i can handle myself honest  
GN: we believe you  
GN: but dave……  
GN: i couldnt help but notice…..  
GN: you have an accent!!!! :OOO  
TG: no that was a fat lick a nothin get your own shit straight harley  
GN: oh my gosh!!! this is so great!!  
CG: WHAT ACCENT? DOES DAVE HAVE AN ACCENT THAT I CAN'T EVEN UNDERSTAND? IF SO I'M GOING TO HAVE TO LEARN YOUR ATROCIOUS LANGUAGE ASAP SO I CAN MAKE FUN OF IT.  
CG: I MEAN ADMIRE IT.  
GN: i always thought he may have an accent, because he lives in houston   
GN: you can tell in this log because he shortens some of words, see??  
GN: go back and look at all the words ending with -ing, he drops the -g!! omg! >:D  
GN: whoops! * :D  
GN: thats definitely what i meant  
CG: HOLY SHIT. I THINK I’M CATCHING ON. I KIND OF SEE IT.  
CG: THIS IS AMAZING. AMAZIN’.   
TG: oh yeah my accent is just the best youre so lucky i hide it behind this wall of text bc otherwise you would not be able to decipher my smooth words  
TG: y'all wan' a taste a’my texan accent? now, now, don' all y'all go an’ jizz y'allselves, hear? i know im'a soundin too sexy ta handle but try an' control yerselves at leas’ a hair y’know  
TG: I DON’T KNOW IF THAT WAS THE MOST WAS HORRIBLE THING I HAVE EVER BEEN WITNESS TO OR THE FUNNIEST. BOTH, IT WAS DEFINITELY BOTH. YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD MAKE IT EVEN BETTER? IF YOU NEVER TALK LIKE THAT AGAIN.  
GN: omg that was great! dave, you need to speak like that more often! im dying :3  
TG: no thanks im good   
TG: but back ta the topic at hand  
TG: our buddies who are mia have you heard from em?  
TG: *to  
TG: *them  
GN: no, i havent  
GN: im getting really worried, to be honest  
GN: its not like them to be out of commission for so long  
GN: but im sure theyre all a-okay!  
GN: or at least not dying horribly :/

 

\--

Karkat and you are wandering the ship when you become distracted. It has been about two hours since breakfast and the conversation with the captain. Not only has your right hand started to come on board with the rest of you, but your ability to think has also returned. Your unfortunate accent is now manageable, thank the holy Mary. The drugged-out, hazy quality to your surroundings are no longer affecting you.

You have just passed Recreation Room D4 R31, when you hear a sound. This sound, you have not heard since entering the medium. It is a meow. A very loud, very annoyed meow.

Karkat is immediately on alert, fingers curling and knees bending into a predatory crouch. He is scanning the hallway for the source, as though under threat. You breeze right past him, heading for Recreation Room D4 R31. A man on a mission, you enter the room, eyes peeled. You swear to God, if you misheard and it turns out that was not a cat, you are going to cry.

The room is about the size of one of your late school’s classrooms (may the fucking building burn); tiny things, able to hold about thirty students with no room to spare. This room is big enough for a replicator and a couple tables for a group to sit and eat. There is a modest bookshelf tucked into the left wall, but no books. Instead, it houses the iPad lookalikes and some other sleek devices. There is a nice-looking sitting area in the far room where a curved sofa hugs the wall and two inviting armchairs rest.

The only human occupants are two women, chatting on the aforementioned sofa: a woman of Asian descent in her twenties, hair pulled back into a wicked bun and uniform eye-searing red. With her is a blonde a few years older than you (four years, two months, _don’t you even start_ ), blue eyes and blue uniform. A tan, long-furred cat lounges on the blonde’s lap, purring up a storm and kneading the girl’s thigh.

It is not that you like cats, honest. It is just you have not seen any pets since the game began. There was this tabby cat in your apartment building that was awesome. She belonged to one of your neighbors and you would cat sit for him when he traveled for his job. She was such a sweetie, always rubbing up against you shin, head butting your face. You miss her.

“Excuse me,” you say, stepping into the room. You decide to be blunt. “Can I pet your cat?”

“Of course,” says the Asian woman. “She loves attention.”

You pinch Karkat’s sleeve and pull him after you, because otherwise he would have stayed, tense, in the doorway. “Name’s Dave. This is Karkat.”

“Hey there,” she replies. “My name is Lieutenant Commander Arden Cho and this is Ensign Tina Lawton.”

Tina Lawton nods, asks, “Are you the boy they found in space?”

“That’s me,” you agree. You pull the troll closer to the couch, but it seems that he was only willing to go a certain distance before digging his heels. Whatever. That just means you get more of the cat to yourself. You abandon him and head for the kitty, who has not budged from its spot on the girl. You lower yourself onto your butt, grateful for the chance to be off your leg. It has healed nicely, sure, but it is sore from all the walking you have been doing.

“Her name’s Rainbow,” says Lawton.

You raise your eyebrows and look pointedly at the cat. This cat is not colorful. She is big and fat, her sides spilling off Tina’s lap and onto the couch. Her head is too small for the rest of her body, ears and face dark with tabby markings. Her throat and underside are milky white, though her huge main body is tan, darkening as it creeps down to her black-furred tail. The marks curling along her face make her sapphire eyes especially striking.

Her fur is as soft as it looks. Your right hand is healed, but you use your left anyway. You start at her head and stroke smoothly down her spine. Her purr thickens and she arches into your palm. The tips of your fingers skim the bulge along her sides. “She’s so fat,” you marvel.

“She’s pregnant,” corrects Cho, amused.

“Oh, crap. That’s so much better. Karkat, c’mere. Pet the pregnant kitty.”

Karkat releases a negative, clicking trill.

“Dude, c’mon.” You tap your sunglasses.

Karkat huffs, but he goes to a neighboring armchair furthest from the women, sits, and pulls out his alien laptop.

You immediately pester him.

TG: dude quit being a sissy and come pet the cat  
TG: do you have something against cats  
CG: I DON’T KNOW WHAT A CAT IS, BUT IF YOU ARE REFERRING TO THE MINI PURRBEAST, HELL TO THE NO. I AM GOING NOWHERE NEAR THAT.  
CG: WHEN IT REMOVES YOUR HAND FROM YOUR ARM, I AM GOING TO LAUGH AND I WILL CONTINUE TO LAUGH WHEN IT TURNS ITS UNFATHOMABLE PLATONIC HATRED TO ME.  
CG: OR NOT PLATONIC, I’M NOT REALLY ONE TO JUDGE.  
TG: aw are you scared of the cat  
TG: its so cute that you think such a nice kitty will actually give a shit about you  
TG: hate to break it to you but this cat couldn't give any fucks about anyone unless theyre petting her  
TG: omg look at her shes rubbing her whole goddamn face against my hand  
TG: karkat  
TG: karkat i dont think i can handle this much cute  
TG: come and pet it right now you gotta its gotta happen karkat  
CG: NO.  
CG: BY ALL MEANS, THOUGH, CONTINUE FLIRTING WITH DEATH.  
TG: dude shes pregnant she wont so a thing to overexert herself  
CG: SHE’S WHAT? IS THAT SOME SORT OF SLANG THAT YOU KNOW I WON’T UNDERSTAND SO YOU USE IT JUST TO PISS ME OFF?  
TG: no dude it means shes gonna have kittens  
TG: little minicats are going to explode out of her nether regions screaming and writhing in a disgusting cocktail of mom juices  
TG: super gross and very loud  
TG: def not for the faint of heart  
CG: I UNDERSTOOD NONE OF THAT. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THINGS WILL BE COMING OUT OF IT? OUT OF WHERE?  
TG: ok you know what? i suddenly dont wanna talk about this  
TG: pet the fucking cat karkat

Many annoying messages later, Karkat finally sets aside his bugtop and reluctantly comes away from the armchair. His movements are slow, as though if Rainbow notices him coming, she will tear his face off. He eventually makes it to your position, crouching stiffly next to you. He gives you the stink eye and a nice show of his flesh-ripping teeth, then takes a deep breath. He reaches tentatively for the preggers cat with an air of great fear. You come to the startling realization that he really does not expect to have fingers by the end of this. You really need to ask if they have pets in Trollonia.

You are scratching Rainbow’s cheek, just behind her whiskers (she is crazy for it), when Karkat touches her back. No petting commences. Karkat is watching Rainbow for any negative reactions, expression tense. She has not a care, occupied by your godly hands. Encouraged, the troll slowly brings his hand toward her tail, but snatches it back when her bottom rises.

You snicker, elbow him jokingly. He hisses. “Here.” You (regretfully) remove your hand from Rainbow’s cheek and stroke her, head to tail. She bends helplessly into your palm, half-rising on her haunches and tail standing straight. You do it a second time, then gesture for Karkat to try. He does, though he looks as though he would rather stick his hand in a live blender. Rainbow does not give a flying fuck about the change of hands.

“Why is there a pregnant cat on a spaceship?” you ask. “Or is this a regular thing?”

“It’s fairly common, actually,” Cho explains. “One of the star bases in the Delta quadrant are having a rodent infestation and they petitioned for domesticated predators to keep the population under control. Cats are kind of a novelty in that area and were requested specifically. We’re not the only starship stopping there, but we needed to refuel, so we went ahead and picked up a breeding female for the occasion. Rainbow and her kittens will be dropped off when we get there.”

“So, they’re not staying?” You ask nonchalantly, following one of the patterns on her head with a finger, scritching the base of her ear.

“No, they’re not staying,” Cho says softly.

Figures.

“I plan on asking the captain to keep one of the kittens,” Lawton says. “Every ship needs a cat. It’s bad luck otherwise.”

Cho rolls her eyes. “Ms. Lawton, you put way too much stock into superstition.”

“I’m just _saying_ —."

“Oh, don’t even get started,” Cho interrupts. She turns to you and Karkat with a sly smile. “If you let her, she’ll talk your ear off about those kind of things.”

“They’re _important_. If Rainbow has any black kittens, then all the better. A black cat is especially lucky on board.”

“When’s she due, anyway?” you ask before the conversation gets ugly.

“By the looks of things,” Cho says, “within the week. She can barely walk, she’s so pregnant.”

“Oh. Cool. When, uh. Is it possible—I mean,” Shit, why is this so hard? Just ask if you can watch her, that is all. “Can, um. Can I keep coming? To watch her and stuff?”

“If that’s what you would like,” Cho replies. “We feed her twice a day: 0800 and 2000. Keep her company, too. Are you interested in that?”

Ugh, waking up at eight every morning? Rainbow headbutts your fingers, insistently rubbing the side of her face all over your fingertips. Hell yes. “Yeah. That’d be fine.”

“Alright. Come by in the morning and I’ll set you up.”

Something blips from Lawton’s hip. She squirms in order to get it, causing Karkat to snap his hands away and back up warily. The device is sleek in design but she flips it open like a _flip phone_ , ugh. “Ensign Lawton.”

“Good evening, Ensign,” says a woman’s smooth voice from the outdated phone. “I hope you’re not too busy, because you are to rendezvous with me in ten minutes. I see that Messrs. Strider and Vantas are with you. Is it ok if they follow you?”

“Aye, ma’am,” Lawton says. “Lawton out.” She looks to you and Karkat, still hovering behind you. “Guess we’re going to meet Charlie now.”

“Who?” you ask.

\--

Charlie Evans is an awkward kid a few years older than you. He is apparently the sole survivor of a crash landing on a barren, uninhabited planet. He is thinner than he should be, undoubtedly the result of a lifetime of malnourishment and a stressful environment. He is wide eyed and jumpy, startling at any sudden movements. He stares with a hungry fascination at the individuals around him. He moves dreamlike, overwhelmed, a look on his face like he cannot believe what his eyes are showing him.

You think about Jade, in the years before she met John, Rose, and yourself. Is this what Jade was like, in the early years of your contact? Did she share this ravenous, unsettling hunger for human interaction and the starvation for company? Did she wait impatiently at her computer screens, famished for conversation? Her odd mannerisms are now at the forefront of your thoughts, how she would be so insistent to talk and never let up.

Ensign Rand is about Cho’s age, in her late twenties. She wears the red uniform of security and her blonde hair is done up in a beehive fashion that should have died in the eighties. She smiles brightly at you, and Lawton stands calmly by Karkat's elbow. Poor Karkat gives both her and Rand a narrowed-eyed glance, like he has no idea why these two beautiful women are deigning to stand by him and smile.

Charlie frowns at all of you (you do not blame him; this is news to you, too), then gets slightly caught by Karkat. “Hello. Um, are you ...nonhuman, too?"

Karkat raises his chin, slants a slitted-eye gaze to you. “Vss _ekekeck_.”

“Uh, he doesn’t exactly know any English yet,” you intervene. “I know, it’s a failing, but the poor guy’s trying.”

"Oh. Are those horns?" he asks, staring with huge eyes at the nubby horns.

Karkat must know what the kid is looking at, because his eyes narrow, and his chin slightly dips in defiance. This time, he lets out a threatening, clunking hiss.

Charlie clearly has no idea how to respond beyond looking terrified, so Rand smoothly interrupts. Charlie's attention immediately snaps to her. "Well, Mr. Evans, I'll leave you to get acquainted. If you need me, feel free to contact me via the intercoms."

"What? You're leaving?" Charlie says.

Uh oh. You think that ravenous attention is not just for the general masses. No, looks like that gaze is also for pretty blonde women more than a decade older than him. You guess you cannot fault him for his taste in babes. Rand is pretty hot. Aw, look at that cutesy, puppy dog expression, he is all hangdog now that his crush does not want to spend every waking moment in his company.

"That's right," Rand replies. "But there's no need to worry, these young men and woman are very friendly."

"Yeah, man," you say. "I only bite occasionally. Don't get too close to Karkat, though; he'll eat your hand."

Karkat rumbles deep in his throat, his lips curling from his teeth.

"But I don't want to be with them!" Charlie says, a trifle desperate. "I just want to be with you."

"Dude." You raise your eyebrows high over your shades. "This ship isn't that big. You'll see her, like, every day."

"Exactly," Rand says. "You'll see me very often, Mr. Evans, I'll make sure of it, okay? In the meantime, how about Ensign Lawton gives you and the boys a tour of the ship? I know Mr. Strider and Mr. Vantas are overdue for one as well."

"But, why can't you give me the tour?" Evans whines. Wow, this guy needs to pull back on the reins a bit, he is definitely coming on a little strong there.

"I have other duties, Mr. Evans. You're not my only responsibility."

With that, she gives professional, if polite, nods to you and your new extended group, and leaves.

"Have you eaten yet, Mr. Evans?" Lawton inquires. "I'll show you to the mess hall for a snack."

And so commences an incredibly awkward tour.

Later, once the incredibly uncomfortable tour has ended and everyone has gone their separate ways, you and Karkat backtrack to the gymnasium. You decide to use it for sorely needed training. Neither of you have your weapons out, mostly because they are not dull enough to practice with in a safe manner. You also do not trust yourself with a sharp instrument yet. Instead, you are sparring hand-to-hand. It is certainly not one of your strengths, but you are not _too_ shabby. Out of practice and exhausted though you may be, you are at least on Karkat's level. He has a peculiar style of fighting, keeping his claws angled just so, and his footwork is unfamiliar. He is fond of defense and is good at it to boot, but his offense is nothing to sniff at. If he gets you with those killer claws, damn is that going to hurt.

You are slower than you should be, still weary from the trip in space. You see the move coming, from five fucking minutes away, but you are too sluggish to duck. Karkat’s claws rake down your forearm, tearing easily through the uniform and sinking into your flesh. Though the fabric of your uniform is tougher than it looks, his killer claws are lethal, ouch. Through the pain, you see he left his side open, just a bit, and you take full advantage, putting all your weight into the strike. It has him reeling, at least. His defense is still good, and on one hand, it is beneficial for his survival and testament to his dedication in training, but, dammit, his defense is _so good_.

"Mr. Strider, Mr. Vantas!" Captain Kirk calls. He and his sparring partner, Sam, have commandeered part of the yoga section and with them is Charlie. You did not realize they were there, too busy getting torn to ribbons courtesy of Karkat's claws. Shit, did he see it? You press heavily on the ripped cloth, hoping to staunch the bleeding so no one notices.

“'Sup," you greet. Karkat is hovering uncertainly behind you, clearly nervous about being summoned by the captain.

"I see that you're familiar with sparring," Kirk observes.

Uh. "A little bit, yeah."

"I'm teaching Mr. Evans basic self-defense. What would you say is the most important?"

"Footwork," is your immediate answer.

“A fine point," Kirk agrees. "But I'm talking about the very first thing you learn, the most basic. Falling."

Oh, okay. You see where this is going. Bro actually taught you footwork first, and falling was kind of a major (if humiliating and painful) part of it. Losing one's footing is dangerous in a fight. Falling without control can lead to more injuries, and gives the enemy an advantage.

“Then, I just won’t fall,” Evans argues.

Kirk smiles widely. "Not falling is what you're aiming for, yes. But you still can get knocked down. Might as well control it."

You raise your hand. "I'm good teach. I know how to fall like a champ."

"That's good to hear. For these two, though, I'll demonstrate." He turns to his training buddy. "This is Sam. He's going to push me and I'll show you a controlled fall.”

Kirk gestures for his buddy to join him on the training mat while you retreat with the other boys. You encourage Karkat to get his bugtop so you can explain. He does, and the following conversation majorly creeps you out.

CG: HE'S TEACHING US HOW TO FIGHT? WHY?  
TG: i dunno probably as a manly bonding thing for charlie  
TG: we just got roped into it bc were young and impressionable or something  
CG: BUT I ALREADY KNOW HOW TO FIGHT, IT’S REQUIRED SCHOOLFEEDING FOR WRIGGLERS.   
CG: WHAT DOES HE GET OUT TRAINING US PERSONALLY?  
TG: fuck if i know maybe the joy of kicking kiddies around or something  
TG: i think youre prob putting a little more thought in this than there actually is  
CG: NO, GENIUS, I’M NOT. IF HE’S HELPING US, HE WANTS SOMETHING. THAT’S HOW THIS KIND OF STUFF WITH ADULTS *WORKS*; THE ADULT PRETENDS TO BE HELPFUL (OR NOT, DEPENDS ON THE ADULT, I GUESS), WHETHER IT'S IN TEACHING A WRIGGLER A SKILL OR JUST SOME “FRIENDLY ADVICE”, THEN DEMANDS SOMETHING IN RETURN.  
CG: THE PROBLEM IS THAT I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE CAPTAIN COULD GAIN FROM ALL THREE US.  
CG: EXCEPT, YOU KNOW, THE OBVIOUS.  
TG: dude this is some serious conspiracy theory bullshit right there  
TG: he doesnt want anything from us except maybe not to die  
TG: besides wtf do you mean by obvious??  
CG: YOU KNOW, WHAT ALL ADULTS WANT. I MEAN, USUALLY, THEIR QUANDRANTS ARE FILLED, SO ALL THEIR NEEDS ARE TAKEN CARE OF AND STUFF, YOU KNOW, ON *THAT* SIDE OF THINGS.  
CG: BUT I’VE HEARD THAT, FOR SOME TROLLS, THE QUADRANTS AREN’T ENOUGH.

You do not like where this conversation is heading.

TG: karkat  
TG: are you talking about like older trolls taking advantage of young trolls fresh hot bods  
TG: and   
TG: youre expecting this  
CG: WELL, I MEAN, I’VE HEARD OF SOME STUFF. AND NO ADULT EVER FREELY TEACHES A TROLL WHO HASN’T COME OF AGE UNLESS THERE’S SOMETHING IN IT FOR THEM.  
TG: ok  
TG: that is incredibly messed up  
TG: you do not need to think like that anymore because you are on a human ship surrounded by humans being manned by humans  
TG: no person will   
TG: wow this is kind of awkward just  
TG: you dont need to worry about that kind of stuff and btw if anyone does bite them with your super fangs or scratch them up with your killer claws look at what it did to my arm dude

“Mr. Strider?” Kirk says.

“Sorry, dude, just a few minutes?” you ask hurriedly, impatient to return to the conversation.

“Take your time, there’s no rush. Mr. Evans, how about I show you how to stretch while we wait…”

Pausing to be sure no one is watching, you peel your sleeve back from your arm, show Karkat the damage. The wound is not too bad, all things considered. Karkat scrunches his nose at it, though. He reaches out to touch your skin, but frowns and curls his hands into fists, claws tucked into the skin of his palms.

CG: SHIT, I DIDN’T KNOW MY CLAWS WOULD DO SO MUCH DAMAGE. YOUR SKIN IS THINNER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE. SORRY ABOUT THAT.  
TG: dude dont mention it  
TG: in fact lets never mention this conversation again  
TG: ever  
TG: now come on i wanna see this weenie evans get his butt kicked

You minimize Pesterchum and tune back into the environment around you. Kirk has apparently finished stretching and is grappling with Sam. He is in the process of being thrown, then turns it into a beautiful roll.

"Nice," you compliment.

You immediately regret saying anything because Kirk turns to you with a slightly terrifying smile. "Would you like to try, Mr. Strider?"

"Sure," you say, more than happy for a distraction from the disturbing conversation with Karkat. "I'm just trying to make you fall, right?"

"That's right. Thanks, Sam." He slaps Sam on a sweaty shoulder. Then, to you, "If you can, that is."

Your leg is questionable in strength; it throbs dully in time with your heartbeat, and your right hand is prone to fits of sudden twitching, but this is just falling practice. Trained by your hard-ass, weeaboo bro and extensive slaying of imps, you are positive you can take what Kirk can dish out.

You unequip your slippers and step onto the mat. You get into position several feet from the captain and correct your stance. Kirk raises his arms like a boxer, and stands like a martial artist. You have sparred with a grand total of two people: your bro and Karkat. You are looking forward to seeing the differences between such drastic personalities.

Bro is unbelievably fast, disappearing almost from sight before the session even begins. Captain Kirk does not have Bro's speed. Kirk dances towards you, watching any movements intensely. Your palm itches for the hilt of Caledfwlch, but you simply curl your fist and wait. As expected, Kirk makes the first move; he lunges for your weak side. Compared to your fights with Bro, he has some serious slow motion going on. You just trip the dude. He falls flat on his face, but he does control how he drops, you will give him that.

"Whoops," you say into the silence.

Sam bursts into laughter, almost falling off his stool.

Kirk rolls to his feet with a wide grin, not looking at all ashamed to be beaten by an eighth grader. "Good job, Mr. Strider. But this time, how about you demonstrate?"

You snort. "Sure. Whatever makes you feel better. Sir."

This time, you do not fight back. When Kirk attempts to flip you, you let him. God, you have never been a fan of falling. Bro certainly made it something to avoid. Kirk, at least, is gentler than your brother was. He does not add unnecessary force or mock you afterwards.

"Nice fall," Kirk says, holding a hand out for you. "Mr. Evans, how would you like a practice round?"

“I—okay,” Charlie says meekly.

Kirk squeezes your shoulder and pushes you lightly toward Charlie. "Alright. You saw what I did? Good, then go ahead and copy that, I'll instruct you."

Charlie faces you. "Well, this isn't awkward at all," you say. "No hard feelings for this coincidental and completely unexpected training session?"

"Hard feelings?" Charlie parrots.

"Yeah. Like, you're not gonna try to murder me in my sleep or give me dirty looks in the hallways when we accidentally make eye contact."

"Oh. Why would I give you dirty looks?"

"Because you're gonna get your butt kicked several times."

"I—you're going to hurt me?" he questions, shocked.

"No, dude, it's an expression. It means—you know what? You'll find out in a second. Just come at me, bro."

Hesitantly, Charlie comes closer, arms up in a poor imitation of Kirk's defensive posture. Once he is close enough, he tries to grab your shoulders, but you duck out of the way before he can get a hold. When he attempts to trip you, you turn his horrendous stance against him and he collapses in a heap on the ground.

"Whoopsies," you say to his startled expression.

Charlie's face closes in an angry frown, his cheeks flushed. Good. If he is unable to work past his hesitancy, then he will get nowhere. Well, okay, he will not get anywhere in the first place, but he might learn _something_. He needs the frustration to succeed.

The young man scrambles to his feet and edges closer, fearful of retribution but angry enough to risk it. He tries to grab for your shoulders, but you bat his hands away. With every failed attempt, he goes more flustered. It is exactly what you are aiming for. Eventually, you let him stumble past your defenses and get a solid grasp on your forearms. When he tries to flip you, it leaves him hilariously vulnerable.

He is on his ass in one smooth movement.

"Hope you had a nice fall," you tease.

"I don't want to do this anymore," he grumps, getting to his feet. "He's not being fair."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Evans," Kirk says, "but there is no fair play in combat. All you can do is keep going. Come on, give it another go."

Reluctant, Charlie shuffles slightly closer. His desire to beat you, the anger you saw when you were dicking around, is gone. Now, there is simply the wish to stop. He clearly does not want to continue. Guess you were a little too hard on the guy. Whoops.

But, Jesus. Were you ever this much of a cry baby?

Just as the other few times, you play with him a little. You dance around him, shrugging his hold off or redirecting it. Again, you let him get a fairly strong grip on your arms, then turn his poor footwork on him. He lands no worse than previously, except perhaps more firmly on his direrre.

Man, does it feel good to be on the other side of an ass-whooping. No wonder your brother was such an asshole. This is great!

"You're not being fair!" Charlie shouts. "You're just—you're making fun of me. It's _wrong_ to make fun of people."

You scoff, cross your arms. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, chickadee, but I'd be making fun of you even if you miraculously lift my hot bod over your skinny shoulder and actually somehow flip me. Which won't happen because you really suck at this."

"Mr. Strider," Kirk says, reprimand in his tone, but humor at the curve of his mouth, "why don't we—"

But you do not hear Captain Kirk finish. The reason is incredibly stupid and hella ironic.

Charlie Evans kills you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Karakt tells Dave of rumors about adults emotionally manipulating young trolls for sexual gratification. It is told in passing and not graphic.
> 
> => If anyone is familiar with the Original Series, this is the first episode, "Charlie X". You should watch it! 
> 
> ==> If you notice any mistakes, let me know and I'll fix it.
> 
> ===> More Southern Dave!!
> 
> ====> Here's a pic of what Rainbow looks like: 
> 
> Sorry she's so big, I couldn't figure out how to make her smaller :/ 
> 
> =====> Please, please, please leave kudos! All of your comments mean the world to me, but kudos are essential as well! <333
> 
>  
> 
> NEXT: Dave gets a vision from monsters about a lost friend; Dave and Karkat are subjected to the worst of the worst: school.


	4. Playing Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dave wakes, it is not a pretty sight. He and Karkat meet the elusive Lieutenant Uhura and frantically avoid the newest passenger. Personally, all Dave really wants to do is nap.

 

>  
> 
> You are drifting, floating through
> 
> The Furthest Ring, not moving a muscle.
> 
> They with countless eyes watch you,
> 
> They follow closely and make you hustle.
> 
> Centerstage, darker than night,
> 
> She, with a thousand gaping mouths,
> 
> Whispers of a bright, lost light.
> 
> You listen hard, but have your doubts.
> 
> The light that you pursue is near,
> 
> Though you see not a glimmer.
> 
> She with a million eyes that sear
> 
> Beckons you to come hither.
> 
> Look, murmurs she with open beak.
> 
> Come, whispers she with rolling tongue.
> 
> Observe what I guard, how unique!
> 
> Such burning light, how harsh it stung.
> 
> Closer do you wander, to the beast
> 
> Who overtook the light, a trickster?
> 
> You must, for this being of defeat
> 
> Knows of who you seek, though sinister.
> 
> I protect this light, simpers she.
> 
> Here, it shan’t be snuffed, but quick!
> 
> This stray light is strong, that is key,
> 
> Soon, it will wake, warns the dick.

\--

There are three things that come to mind when you come to. First: _Hey, that's me,_ as you see the end of your cape fluttering through the doorway and out of the room, unnoticed.

The second is: _Wow, I feel great._ Your leg is no longer weak; it holds strong where you stand, no hint of a buckle. Your headache is gone. Hell, you were unaware you had a headache until you open your eyes and the constant throb of a tension has disappeared. Your wrist is no longer threatening to erupt into pins and needles, as it had since the surgery. You are hungry. It is a funny thing to notice. You should not be hungry, because you ate during the tour, literally two hours and seventeen minutes ago, but here you are, realizing you _really want to eat something._

The third is: _What the hell did I wake up to?_

Karkat has one hand tangled in your cape, the other wielding a sickle. You are pressed so close to him one of his shoulders is jutting into your chest. The close contact sure gives you a good vantage point of his face, though. He looks like a wild animal, pupils slit and teeth bared in aggression. There is a horribly frightening noise rumbling from deep within him, spilling into the air and raising every hair on your body. It has the _tss tss tss_ of a rattle snake, and the wet grumble of an angry dog. He is swaying toward anyone who so much as tilts in your direction, looking damn near ready to rend them to pieces with his _teeth_.

“Mr. Vantas,” Doctor McCoy is saying. He has his hands up, palms tilted to Karkat to show no danger. “I understand you're feeling threatened right now, but Dave needs a doctor.”

At your name, Karkat’s growling hiss morphs into an all-out snarl. “Tss _ikkec_ eck uhn _sshhhek_!” he says, snapping his teeth.

“Uh,” you say, leaning very carefully, very slowly away from the frothing troll.

Karkat notices. He turns his scathing stare to you instead of the doctor. Holy God in Heaven, please do not let you piss your pants. “Hss _thesk_.” Karkat says with a decisive click of his fangs. He points at Evans, who is watching the whole thing with wide eyes, and then swings his fist around around to stab a sharp claw at your chest. “Dhaev, duthm. _Duthm_ ,” he snarls, following this with a hard smack the upside of your head. “Duthm,” he repeats. His eyes look a little wet, rimmed red.

Evans watches you with large, confused eyes. You quickly look away, feeling a little light-headed. "What--what's goin' on?" You want Karkat to unhand you, but you suspect that if you try to move, he will claw your arm off.

“We don’t know,” McCoy answers. “You had some sort of attack while you were sparring with Mr. Evans. If Mr. Vantas will let me, I can scan you to get a better idea of what happened.”

You avoid any eye contact with Charlie, certain that if you do, you will faint like a maiden in a shitty, sexist romance novel. You think you know what happened. You fist your hands to hide their shaking, overcome with the urge to leave. It makes your breath come fast, wrenches tight in your gut. You reach down and seize Karkat’s wrist with trembling fingers, then call every troop thread in the vicinity and order them, _rewind_.

Eager as always to the call of their Knight, the troop threads jump to your command and shiver happily backwards. You detach yourself and your tag-along from the current timeline, reverse until you sense your target time. When you release the troop threads from your influence, past you has just tossed creepy Charlie over his shoulder the third time before his death. Unnoticed by the few other gym-going individuals, you tug a surprised Karkat after you and abscond the fuck out of there.

The hallway is too busy; men and women brush past you, walking briskly and with purpose. You need to find somewhere with no people, but you are unsure how to do so. You have never used your powers in such a way, but… You close your physical senses, open the new ones granted to you by virtue of god tier. The troop threads shiver around you, interacting with the threads of other individuals or objects. You test them, observe the highest concentration versus the lowest, searching for movements in time. It is difficult to sort all of the relevant information from the rest of the ship, but you muddle through it, and soon, you are able to locate the least active areas.

By a stroke of luck, Rainbow’s room is empty and will be for another hour. There are other empty places to hide out in—uh, you mean _conveniently enter_ , but you head for her room. You keep your godly senses tuned, hoping to avoid the most active corridors where people’s troop threads will not interact with the area for at least a minute, long enough for you and your companion to slip by unmolested. Your plan is not as successful as you hoped it would be. The ship is huge, there are more than three hundred people to avoid; you keep passing _at least_ one other person hurrying to another location. The turbo lift is especially tricky. You end up bunking with a blue alien. She has antennas.

Eventually, you make it to Rainbow’s room. Caught in the moment, you completely forget that Karkat is now able to control himself, facing some mild confusion and an embarrassing amount of panic when he twists his wrist out of your hold. You reach out for him, realize he no longer relies on you to keep him from head butting into a star or something, then follow him into the room.

As the door swishes shut behind you, you observe the panel for a locking mechanism. Finding none, you ask the computer how to lock the door.

“The locking mechanism is located on the subsequent panel. However, if you can't locate the mechanism, just ask me to lock the door, and I will do so.”

“Uh, if you could lock the door, that’d be great. Or, actually, just make it so that Charlie can’t get in. Charlie Evans.”

“Access to Recreation Room 31 on Deck 4 has been revoked for passenger Charlie Evans. If Mr. Evans attempts to access this room, security will be notified.”

“Thanks,” you say.

God, this has been a really shitty day. You rub your temples to stave off a headache that is no longer there, then run a hand through your hair. Shit, your hair is really getting out of control. The weeks without a hair dresser are showing their impact. You have not had an afro of this magnitude since you were six.

Rainbow waddles over for a hello, rubbing her ashy face against your leg. You are going to be covered in so much cat fur, it is going to be ridiculous. You could not be happier. Hesitant to lift her when her belly is rivaling a watermelon, you crouch and scratch her throat. Her purr vibrates against your fingertips. The couch is too far away, and hey, you are already in a nice little crouch, so you plop your exhausted ass right there in front of the door. You cross your legs and entice the cat into your lap (it does not take much; you just wiggle your fingers and she heads straight for it).

You look up and see that Karkat is still highly wary of this giant fluff ball. You roll your eyes and pat the ground to your left. Karkat comes easily enough, though there is a good six inches between you. That is fine. You will infect him with the happiness of the cats eventually.

CG: DAVE. YOU ARE A HUGE IDIOT AND YOU SHOULD STOP DYING IN GRUESOME WAYS.  
CG: JESUS CHRIST, YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO MESS WITH A PSIONIC, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?  
TG: a what now  
TG: oh yea thats like the troll word for psychic nvm  
TG: but more importantly: wtf happened?? did creepy charlie murder me with his mind???  
CG: YES, DAVE, YOU WERE MURDERED BY A PSIONIC, AND A PRETTY STRONG ONE, TOO.  
CG: THAT KIND OF STRENGTH IS USUALLY ASSOCIATED WITH BLUE BLOODS, BUT I’M NOT SURE EVEN VRISKA COULD HAVE MIND-KILLED YOU WITHOUT YOU HAVING DO IT FOR HER.  
TG: well there are some problems w that  
TG: one  
TG: i thought vriska controlled minds  
TG: two  
TG: not to speak ill of the dead or whatever but vriska was a colossal bitch  
TG: three and most importantly  
TG: humans arent psychic  
CG: WELL, CLEARLY THAT ASSESSMENT IS WRONG.  
CG: EXCEPT ABOUT VRISKA, THAT IS ABSOLUTELY CORRECT  
CG: BUT HUMANS CAN BE PSYCHIC TOO, IF CHARLIE IS ANYTHING TO GO BY.  
TG: huh  
TG: eh what the hell do i know   
TG: maybe humans in this universe are or maybe they were in my old one too idk  
CG: TAKE VRISKA AS A SHINING EXAMPLE OF PSIONICS. DON’T EVER INSULT THEM. HELL, SOLLUX IS EXCEPTIONALLY POWERFUL!  
CG: WAS, I MEAN. FUCK.  
CG: LOOK, WHAT’D YOU EVEN SAY TO THE GUY ANYWAY?  
TG: nothing i didnt even do anything man i was just saying he wouldnt have been able to beat me in a million years   
TG: i was telling it as it was: that i was better than him in combat and he wouldnt be able to flip me  
TG: i wasnt insulting him i was being truthful  
CG: I GET THE FEELING THE WAY YOU SAID IT WAS IN YOUR USUAL, CHARMING WAY.  
CG: BY WHICH I ACTUALLY MEAN THAT YOU ACTED LIKE A DOUCHEBAG. I’M A LITTLE SURPRISED YOU DIDNT STAY DEAD.  
TG: karkat  
TG: i knew he had no fighting experience whatsoever   
TG: and yes i may have been a teeny bit harsh  
TG: but i was upfront with him about my own abilities and if he actually thought i was being a know it all show off then he  
TG: ok he may have been correct for the most part  
TG: but i mean i didnt mean it not really  
TG: thats how bro taught me you know  
TG: tough love and all that shit  
TG: whoops you didnt dodge that slice fast enough sucks kiddo u shoulda been paying attention now get that wrapped up and well start again  
TG: ive been working with swords since before i could fucking walk i knew it would take a while for charlie to get to my level  
TG: like a long while  
TG: a really really long while  
CG: WHILE YOU MAY HAVE BEEN MOSTLY SPOT ON (BECAUSE GOD DAMN, HE COULDN’T EVEN *FALL RIGHT* WHAT THE HELL), YOU COULD HAVE SAID IT IN A WAY THAT DIDN'T MAKE HIM WANT TO KILL YOU.  
CG: THEN AGAIN, MAYBE THAT’S PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU.

You are about to respond politely and without insult when the door beeps at you. “Who is it? Uh, computer.”

“Dr. Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer.”

“Oh.” You consider your position; you and Karkat have barricaded the door, and you are currently unable to move curtesy of the cat kneading your thigh (ouch). “What does he want?”

There is a short pause. “Dr. McCoy is requesting entrance in order to ascertain your condition.”

He may need to do some gymnastics to enter because you sure as hell are not moving and Karkat may physically object, but. “Let him in.”

The door swishes open and there McCoy stands, shouldering a bulky device and tricorder, you think it is called, gripped in his hand. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack, kid,” he grumps. “One of y’all mind scooting over so I can get in?”

You look at Karkat, who is watching the doctor with slitted, suspicious eyes. “Scoot,” you order, making a shooing motion with your free hand. “Don’t look at me like that, I got a cat in my lap. Shoo.”

Grudgingly, Karkat shuffles on his butt until the door is clear enough for McCoy to squeeze through. Once inside, the doctor points the handheld device at you, which beeps cheerily as he scans it downward.

“Well,” he drawls, “Congratulations, Mr. Strider. You’re pregnant.”

You snort, run your hand easily down Rainbow’s spine. “You’ll never guess who the father is.”

“I’ll bet,” McCoy agrees, attaching the device to the heavier object hanging from his shoulder. He sits down in front of you with an exaggerated groan, removing the bulky contraption and settling it next to him. “So. You mind telling me what happened back there?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you respond.

“I mean why you collapsed like a bag of potatoes, died, then miraculously came back to life.” 

“Exactly what you said, Doc. It was a miracle.”

McCoy sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger, like he is fighting a headache. You feel a little bad for making the guy worry so badly, so you throw him a bone. You keep your eyes on the curlicue _M_ on Rainbow's forehead, say: “Karkat thinks Charlie had something to do with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, Karkat’s had some friends that were psychic or whatever. I think it was common on his planet. He said he knows a psychic when he sees one.”

“Well, there’s a problem with that line of reasoning. Humans are psynull. There’s not a human in the galaxy who has any significant psy levels. Sure, there are individuals who are compatible with telepathic species, and some humans _do_ register on the scale. But the majority of the species, they’re psynull. Karkat must’ve been mistaken,” he concludes gently.

You glare at McCoy from the tops of your shades. “Look, whether you believe him or not, I don’t give a fuck. But _I_ believe him, and I don’t want Charlie wandering back to finish the job, which he can’t, because I’m _immortal_. All’s he gonna be doing is killing me a shitload a’times, and then Karkat’s gonna get all pissy and tick Charlie off, and Karkat can’t come back, so keep that little shit away from us, aight?” Damn, are you thankful that Karkat does not understand English, because that was hella embarrassing simply when he is in earshot. You feel your throat beginning to warm in a flush. You thank the ecto gods for your dark complexion.

McCoy considers you for a long moment. You do not break eye contact, no matter how desperately you want to. “Tell you what. I’ll tell the captain to keep Charlie under surveillance, and in the meantime, Charlie won’t be coming near the two of you. How’s that sound?”

Sounds like he is humoring you, but you will take it. You shrug, do not otherwise reply.

McCoy nods as though you verbally answered. “Excellent. If anything happens, Mr. Strider, if you begin to feel any pain, tingling, or numbness anywhere in you body, _go to sickbay._ Capiche?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you reply tonelessly.

“Alright.” McCoy gathers his legs under him and proceeds to stand like an old man. He puts a hand to his back and everything. You are one hundred percent positive that he does it entirely for show and as an attempt to be humorous. You tell yourself it does not work. “And another thing,” he says in the open doorway. “Report to the captain’s ready room at 10:00 sharp for your educational courses. Good night.” The door shuts on his small, but wicked, smile.

“Wait, what courses?” you holler after him. “And what the hell is a ready room?”

Tch, whatever. The cat is napping on your lap, which you think is a truly grand idea. You have been dying for a nap since this ship found you. That tour you went on seriously tired you out. You are seventy-five percent sure that you started sleepwalking halfway through it. You sure bumped into Karkat a lot, which made him get all hissy. Also, you really want to shower. You will need to ask someone about that. Rainbow certainly is not going anywhere (but Jesus, she is kneading dangerously close to some sensitive equipment, ow), you flop onto the ground. From here, however, Karkat is not longer in your field of vision, so you rearrange yourself until he is in your peripheral. He has also moved, is now leaning against the wall, cross-legged and bored.

You close your eyes and settle in for a nap.

-_-_-_-

You finally get to meet the elusive Lieutenant Uhura, the officer who detected the frantic, unheard messages to your friends. She is a beautiful dark-skinned woman about Kirk’s age (twenty-nine, one month, and— _that is plenty, thank you_ ) with elegant, sharp facial structure. You and Karkat are a little lovestruck.

With her is Commander Spot. The feeling you got from the guy two days ago was closed-off and a little reserved. You figure you were a little too tired to be making any sort of rational decisions about the emotions of any person at the time. Now that you have more sleep under your belt (as well as a _revival_ to boot), you come to the conclusion that your initial presumptions as Spot being stuck-up were spot on.

Mr. Spot keeps excellent posture. His hands are tucked neatly behind his back, and his legs are slightly bent. You think this is the “at rest” position, but you are no Navy boy, and movies only tell so much. Spot’s expression is about what you recall: kind of uncaring and mostly bland. A lot like Bro, completely expressionless. You look away from Spot, watch Uhura instead.

“Morning,” says Lieutenant Uhura. “I’m here to learn the basics of Mr. Vantas’ language. Mr. Spock is going to teach you how to use our technology, even though he should spend the time helping you to acclimate to this day and age instead of handing you a PADD and leaving you to it. But I’m just the linguist.”

“I have duties at present, of which you are more than aware, Lieutenant,” says Spot blandly. “I have little time to spare to tutoring, but I have discussed this with the captain. My exceptional skills are needed throughout several vectors of the ship and, had I the time to do so, I would be more available to tutor Mr. Strider in any necessary courses. As it is, my duties as Second Officer, as well as Science Officer, mean that my time is limited.”

Um.

“I understand that you are needed in several areas of the ship, Mr. Spock, but so am I, and do you see me giving Mr. Vantas a _brochure_ of common phrases and sending him out to the galaxy? No, because I care about the emotional wellbeing of these children, and am willing to use any extra time I possibly have on _teaching them_ the most basic rules they need and _building_ on the skills they currently have in order to see them succeed.”

“Yes, and I am doing so, Lieutenant. I have submitted my adjusted work schedule to the captain for due consideration and will have more time in the future to further test their knowledge and build fundamental skills. However, I am unable to do so _today_.”

“Oh, I see. So, this is will be a one time thing, an anomaly that will not happen again. Because you submitted your adjusted schedule to the captain. Just not for today.”

“That is correct, Lieutenant.”

Uhura’s pretty nostrils flare.

TG: holy shit i think they had a thing  
CG: I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOUR LANGUAGE, AND EVEN I KNOW THEY’RE INVOLVED IN A QUADRANT. OR WERE, AT ANY RATE.   
CG: WHAT ARE THEY FIGHTING ABOUT?  
TG: idk i think shes pissed at spot bc hes not spending enough time teaching us or smth  
TG: or thats her argument anyway  
CG: GREAT, SO WE’RE JUST THE EXCUSE.  
TG: probably  
TG: man fuck this i dont wanna be in the middle of a lovers quarrel  
TG: id rather spend my morning with the cat than these two  
CG: DAVE  
CG: YOU ALWAYS WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH THE CATBEAST.   
CG: FRANKLY, IT’S A LITTLE UNHEALTHY.  
TG: uh excuse you there is nothing unhealthy about wanting to be somewhere far away from the divorce about to happen here  
TG: besides, rainbow is due to give birth any day now i wanna be there for her  
TG: i mean not for her  
TG: obviously   
TG: shes just a cat and holds no sway over my decisions or how i choose to spend my free time   
CG: UH HUH.  
TG: stop it with that judgy look i can see you doing that youre sitting right next to me  
CG: I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT.

You kick Karkat’s ankle. He startles, jumps a little in his seat, and turns to you with his teeth bared. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, those things are sharp. Foolishly, you imitate him, pulling your own lip back from your (not nearly as pants-shittingly scary) teeth. Karkat’s eyebrows shoot up, and he snorts.

“If you are finished,” says Spot, and, oh, that eyebrow raise is _majestic_. “As stated earlier, I will be unavailable to assist you with your studies today, but I do have your curriculum on my person. Ensign Chekov will be arriving momentarily in order to ascertain your position in the mathematical community, and tutor you in any areas he deems necessary for ninety minutes. You will break for precisely thirty minutes, to do as you please. After, another off-duty personnel will take his place.”

“Okay, cool,” you say. “But what about Karkat? What’s he going to be doing while I do math tests or whatever?”

Uhura holds up a palm-sized, rectangular device. “This is a universal translator. Once this has enough data, it will begin to translate basic sentences and I will teach him Basic. This may take several weeks. Oh, Doctor McCoy told me about a device that the two of you use to communicate. Can I use it?”

“Sure,” you say, sliding off your shades and giving her a quick tutorial on the iShades. Wow, you have been pimping these suckers to a lot strangers lately. Maybe you should get paid for it.

“Mr. Strider, you will also, of course, be taught the most common languages in this sector of the galaxy,” says Spot as Lieutenant Uhura and Karkat wander off to another table, “but that will be handled at another time, likely at Lieutenant Uhura’s leisure.

“I have with me a datapad. You will keep it on your person at all times. This particular PADD will contain any coursework you believe necessary to the topic at hand, as well as any additional projects, be they personal or academic. I will instruct you on the use of these PADDs presently.” Spot steps forward to hand you and Karkat a… tablet? It looks like a Nook, one of those electronic book things Rose always went on about. You recall McCoy and some of his people fiddling with these. It lacks the sleek quality of an iPad; this device is a drab gray, though you will admit that it is lighter than it looks. Still, this shit is tacky.

Spot continues. “To engage these devices, place any finger on the lower right corner of the screen. You will be instructed to input your credentials…”

-_-_-_-

Spot describes to you your new schedule. Basically, it is this: your educational courses will be handled primarily by volunteers. Men and women off-duty and willing to use their free time teaching. It will be subject to frequent change, and you will have to keep on eye on the online schedule.

Ensign Chekov is the first volunteer. He is a Russian nineteen-year-old mathematical genius, bright eyed and curly-haired. He speaks with an accent. You have never seen someone with a Russian accent in real life. It is pretty cool. He uploads some questions for you to answer onto your brand new (and still very drab) PADD. There are only five questions, mostly basic word problems. You thought you had this in the bag.

“You answered none correctly,” Chekov concludes.

“None?” you repeat bleakly.

“Not one. But it is okay, I was expecting this. The 21st century had abysmal public education, after all.”

The next ninety minutes pass in the exact opposite manner you were expecting. You were picturing something more along the lines of your late school: worksheets, worksheets, and (surprise!) more worksheets. A teacher that forced you to use only one equation, and did not explore other modes of teaching. A teacher who would put in just enough effort to get you to pass a test, but not give a rat’s ass if you _understood_ the material.

Instead, Chekov brings in real life examples (that actually apply to _real life_ ), using a cool interactive hologram that Jade has probably already built. He pays attention to you and your questions, changes his ways of teaching to suit your own needs, even offers shortcuts. He is friendly and seems to care about your difficulties, offering comfort when you show frustration. Strangely, you are not bombarded with questions; he uses only the five questions on the test from the beginning, and not one more.

It is actually _fun_.

On the other side of the room, Lieutenant Uhura and and Karkat are exchanging words in that weird bug language. Or, rather, Uhura is imitating whatever Karkat clicks out. The words have become progressively longer and harsher as the lesson goes on (probably more vulgar, too). It is frankly amazing, what Uhura is capable of doing with the human throat. You are surprised she has not pulled something yet. Whenever she stumbles, Karkat repeats the word, enunciating carefully. He seems to be having a pretty good time, too.

The thirty-minute break comes faster than you think it should. Is that not a funny concept, that you _want_ to keep the lesson going? It has certainly never happened before. During the break, you head to Rainbow’s room. It has snacks, and is capable of locking—or, at least, provides a warning if there is a creepy psychic teenager on the prowl.

It has been twenty some minutes since break started. You are dozing on the sofa, head nestled on the cushioned and very, very comfy arm rest. The crumbs of fallen goldfish litter the ground, along with a glass of half-empty AJ. Karkat is typing on his laptop, but you do not know who he is talking to. You should contact Jade soon, you note fuzzily.

The door opens and a future you sweeps inside. He makes a beeline for Rainbow, who is chilling in front of her food bowl, waiting for food like the queen she has become. He bends and, carefully, very carefully, lifts her into his arms. She complains with a purring meow that melts your heart, but does not violently reject. He exits so hastily, his feet barely touch the ground.

“That was adorable,” you mutter into the cushion.

Karkat rumbles in agreement, squinting at the door.

Five minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, the computer tells you Charlie Evans is requesting to enter the room. “Security has been alerted,” she adds thoughtfully. “Please don’t panic.”

You immediately panic. All traces of sleepiness disappear, and you launch yourself across the sofa to latch onto Karkat with an iron grip. He is making angry, confused hiss-clicking noises, but you focus on the troop threads tingling around you. They almost seem to anticipate your actions, and are already shimmying backwards. You keep a desperate eye on the time stream, wrestle control back before you end up an hour past your target time. Your sorry asses are dumped outside Rainbow’s room ten minutes in the past.

The hallway is empty except for a blue-skinned woman, striding in from the left hand hallway. Her antennae twitch at you, and she stares as she comes closer. She looks as though she is considering pausing and conversing with you, which you seriously _do not need_ , so you smile widely at her (maybe a little hysterically) and wave.

Shit, wrong move! Abort, abort!

She stops to greet you. “Hello. Are you Dave Strider?”

“Yes’m, that’s me.”

“You’ve just finished with your first lesson, correct? Mathematics with Ensign Chekov?”

“Yep.”

“Good. I hope it went well.”

“It did.”

“Excellent. I am Commander Ovissa Zh’itotrith, of the moon Andoria. I believe I am your next tutor for the day.”

“Oh. Great. Uh, thanks. For teaching me. And stuff.”

“No thanks are necessary, Mr. Strider. Education is the most important aspect of any civilization.” She pauses, and eyes you. “Is something the matter, Mr. Strider?”

“Nope, nothing at all. I’m jus’ fine.”

There is a lull in the conversation. Commander Zh’itotrith does not seem to believe you.

“Walk with me, will you?” she asks, gesturing to the hallway she just came from.

“Uh,” you say, “one minute.”

You close your eyes, and try to recreate what you did last night. Ah, there they are, the troop threads. There is still a sense of urgency to your thoughts, but you slow yourself down, try to take the time to observe the threads connecting the fabric of time. You notice, now, there is some sort of rhythm to it. You cannot… you cannot grasp the beat, the tune, but you can feel it. It trembles through you, resonates through the troop threads and thrums upward, out of your sight. The troops threads are sewn into the teeth of barely-there, vibrant red gears. 

Given time and experience, maybe you could do something worthwhile with the beat you feel in your bones, but you focus finding where in the hell Evans is coming from. The tune changes subtly, into something more lonely, drawing your attention down the left corridor.

Cool. You pat Karkat on the shoulder, then head inside the room for the cat. Past you has his head laying on the arm rest, legs stretched out across the sofa. Huh. You did not notice, but you had nestled your toes beneath past Karkat’s thigh. Are your slippers gone? You blink, look down. Your bare toes wriggle up at you.

Okay. You have no memory of removing your slippers. Now that you think of it, though, your feet are a little chilly.

You know the drill by now; no speaking to past reiterations unless it is necessary to the stability of the time loop. You breeze past the two boys on the sofa and crouch next to the queen. She stands as you approach, clearly expecting you to feed her. You contemplate your next move. How do you lift a pregnant cat? You doubt it is acceptable to hold her belly. Should you grasp her legs, like a chicken? Holy shit, what if you fuck up and hurt her or her unborn kittens? Fuck, okay. You can do this.

Tentatively, you place one hand behind her front legs, right into her armpits. Your other hand settles underneath her tail, her haunches pressing against your palm, as though preparing her to sit on your hand. _Don’t think about poop_ , you think desperately. When she does nothing more than meow (oh, God, so damn cute), you slowly pick her up, making sure she is in as comfortable a position as possible. That done, you turn on your heel and half-glide out.

Karkat is exactly where you left, looking awkward and impatient. He notices you, and he growls. You think it means something along the lines of, _Dave, how could you leave me all by lonesome with some chick I don’t know, hiss hiss, complain complain_. Then, he catches sight of your precious cargo and his dialogue is probably something like, _Really, you go back for the cat, click click, whine whine._

“Sh,” you tell him, speed walking (not fleeing) down the hall, away from the lonesome tune coming closer and closer.

Karkat looks scandalized.

“Is there any particular reason we’re leaving the room so quickly?” Zh’itotrith inquires. “And why you have abducted the feline?”

“No reason,” you reply. “Just thought a change of scenery was a good idea is all.”

“Hm.”

“So, uh. What’re you gonna teach me? Uh, Commander.”

“We'll be learning about the history of the United Federation of Planets, and some of the major conflicts. I will not be reviewing the events of Earth during the 21st and ongoing centuries, but will be leaving that to someone with more expertise. Don’t know who that’s going to be yet, but they’ll probably pop up in your scheduling.”

“Cool.” You readjust your hold on Rainbow, get her more comfortable. “Hey, are there any rooms nearby?”

“Yes. I think the observatory is nearby. We’ll go there. It’s quite relaxing.”

You vaguely remember something about an observatory during the tour, but you cannot recall anything of importance. Commander Zh’itotrith leads you and Karkat (and Rainbow) down some winding halls. You think you entered a holodeck. You are not sure. You think you spaced out. You accidentally bump into Karkat and he snarls wetly at you. Rainbow's ears flatten, and you soothe her with pets. You do not know why he is so angry, and you frown at him. He does not look at you.

“Here we are,” says Zh’itotrith. She leads you to an archway that opens into a huge room. It is, possibly, half the size of a football field. There is furniture designed for comfort, and some tables, likely for eating. Huge windows line the furthest wall. Beyond the windows, billions of stars are zipping by, creating brilliant lines of light. The lights blur into each other, forming dazzling light shows.

“Sit,” says the woman, indicating a sleek table. You detour briefly to lower Rainbow onto a plush couch. It is a happy coincidence that Karkat just so happened to choose the same couch. When she curls up, yawning, you move to take a seat at the table.

“Now, to begin. The United Federation of Planets was founded on 2161…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> => Hey there! So this thing is starting to get lots and lots of comments (*screams silently*) so, I think I'm going to put my Tumblr up so people can ask things and I might actually reply in a timely manner :p => [phooykazooi-starstuck.tumblr.com/](http://phooykazooi-starstuck.tumblr.com/). Beware: I am new to Tumblr and am still learning! 
> 
> ==> also i posted Rhydart's fanart in the 1st chapter, but i'll move it here for the returning folks <3\. It is SO GREAT. The artist put so much detail into it, you can see where Dave was hurt and everything!! OMG and you can even see the holes in his cape from the meteors!!  
> [Rhydart's Work <3](http://rhydart.tumblr.com/post/138439247003/starstuck-by-phooykazooi-on-ao3-starts-directly)
> 
> NEXT: Karkat comes to a realization about humanity and new plans are concocted to meet up with Jade. Karkat worries about his sleeping arrangements.


	5. Heads Over Tails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you (Karkat) make a discovery about humanity and face down a psychopath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, eh?? 
> 
> Yeah, no excuses. I'm also going to post this and go to sleep. Enjoy!

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are very tense about your situation. You have recently been picked up by a ship manned primarily by humans and your only companion is Dave Strider, an obnoxious human who seems to believe that there is no such thing as a serious situation. He is far too trusting of the random strangers who have plucked the two of you out of dead space, apparently out of the goodness of their blood pushers. 

You, of course, call hoofbeastshit.

Currently, you are resting on the sofa, next to Dave who is (completely unsurprisingly) coddling the predator purring on his lap. He has finished the schoolfeeding and is also [resting], as you are.

You are so tired. There is no sopor slime, so you cannot sleep for fear of slipping into sleeprage and harming the people around you. Trolls are a very violent species, after all. Daymares are a legitimate concern. Your eyes burn with every blink, and you wish you could rest your head against the arm of the couch and _sleep_. Unfortunately, you do not know who to contact in regards to your needs. Docterrorist McCoy, perhaps? 

turntechGodhead [TG] is now pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]  
CG: HEY, DAVE.  
TG: wassup  
CG: YOU MIND TELLING WHAT THE FUCK THAT WAS ALL ABOUT?  
TG: what what was all about   
CG: OH, I DON'T KNOW, THE PART WHERE YOU LAUNCHED YOURSELF AT ME FOR NO REASON, THEN RUSHED TO GET THE CATBEAST  
CG: AND THEN SHUSHED ME.  
CG: WHICH, OKAY, ANOTHER THING: I MUST ADMIT THAT WHILE I AM FLATTERED BY YOUR INTEREST IN ME IN *THAT* WAY, I KINDA HAVE A MOIRAIL.   
CG: I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS AT THE MOMENT, AND FOR SOME REASON CAN'T CONTACT HIM, BUT I'M TAKEN.   
TG: what  
TG: ill be honest here and say that i honestly dont understand the whole troll relationship stuff but  
TG: i can say with complete and utter confidence that i have not been hitting on you  
TG: i mean  
TG: not purposefully  
TG: bc i swear to gog if i HAVE been hitting on you and not even aware of it im gonna be so pissed at myself  
TG: all the opportunities i missed   
TG: all the come ons ive apparently been doing  
TG: so many missed dick jokes  
CG: OH. WELL, THANK GOD I DODGED THE DICK JOKES (WHATEVER THAT IS).  
TG: anyway  
TG: the reason why i as you put it "launched myself at you" was bc charlie evans came knocking  
TG: i thought i should probably get out of there before he got in you know  
TG: were good now btw  
TG: i dont think he knows where we are or anything  
CG: I THOUGHT I HEARD HIS NAME, BUT I WASN’T 100% CERTAIN. GOOD MOVE.  
CG: SINCE THE CRISIS SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN AVERTED, AT LEAST FOR THE TIME BEING, I’VE BEEN MEANING TO BRING SOMETHING UP, BUT I KEPT FORGETTING  
CG: WHERE ARE WE SLEEPING? ARE WE JUST GOING TO LIVE IN THE CATBEAST’S ROOM? BECAUSE I AM NOT SLEEPING ANYWHERE NEAR THAT THING.  
CG: I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU DO IT, DAVE.   
CG: YOU’VE SLEPT WITH THIS THING, LIKE, FOUR TIMES NOW.   
TG: it is literally impossible to stay awake when she is on you  
TG: she is like a portable heater dude  
CG: NO, DAVE  
CG: YOU JUST FALL ASLEEP AT THE DROP OF A HAT.  
CG: IN FACT, I’M PRETTY SURE YOU WERE SLEEPWALKING A COUPLE TIMES.  
CG: ON THE ONE HAND, IT WAS KIND OF IMPRESSIVE, BECAUSE IF SOMEONE TALKED TO YOU, YOU WOULD RESPOND LIKE YOU WERE AWAKE.  
CG: THEN, LIKE FIVE SECONDS LATER, YOU WERE SNORING.   
TG: thats a total fucking lie  
TG: there is no way that i snore youre making that shit up  
CG: NO, DAVE  
CG: I’M REALLY NOT.  
CG: BUT BACK TO THE QUESTION AT HAND: WHERE ARE WE SLEEPING?  
TG: no we are not done with this conversation  
TG: dont even fucking try  
TG: but dammit you have a point  
TG: i guess we cant keep sleeping in rainbows room  
TG: hang on  
Dave gently ushers the catbeast off of his lap and stands, then strides to the intercom. You watch Rainbow warily as she stretches, sticking her butt up in the air. She yawns, a gesture that shows all of her needle-sharp teeth, and straightens. She turns to you and you feel your blood pusher freeze in your scrawny chest. She gracefully steps over the cushions, heading straight for you. You still have your husktop in your lap (probably what saves you, to be honest), but she reaches for your thigh with an ashy paw and tugs on the fabric with her claws.

“No,” you say, moving away. “Fucking—don’t you fucking dare.”

She chitters, but removes her death claws from your poor pants. You think you are in the clear, but then she pads next to you and curls up against your thigh, flush against you. You swallow and stay perfectly still until she settles. She kneads the air and purrs; you can feel it against your leg, all the way down to your toes. 

Shit. Now what do you do?

TG: omg  
CG: DAVE GET IT OFF ME  
TG: nah man shes chosen you to sleep against youre the chosen one  
TG: you have no choice but to bow to her superior needs  
TG: you should ditch the computer so she can get all up in your lap  
CG: I HAVE A MUCH BETTER IDEA:  
CG: HELL NO.  
TG: ok  
TG: ill tell you what to do karkles dont worry  
TG: alright   
TG: you need to pet her head  
CG: OH MY GOD!  
CG: DAVE, I’M SERIOUS!  
TG: so am i  
TG: for serious man you gotta pet her   
TG: you gotta  
TG: just rub her head like this  
Dave sits next to Rainbow, cross-legged and at ease. He pets the animal’s head and Rainbow leans into his prongs, purr rising in intensity by about four hundred percent. When you make no move to copy him, he nudges you with his elbow. You scowl at him, baring your teeth in an aggressive manner. He wriggles his eyebrows. 

You sigh heavily. “If I lose my hand, I’m going to be so pissed at you.” 

Dave says something in his strange, flowing language. There are no clicks or subvocal grumbles, and you have no idea how the hell his species communicates without them. 

“Right back fucking at you,” you say. “May the gods have mercy on my soul.”

You knock Dave’s hand out of the way, then, using the pads of your prongs and keeping your claws pointed upwards, you imitate what Dave did. The catbeast’s fur is unbelievingly soft. Carefully, you follow the edge of her skull, along her neck, then repeat the process. Rainbow is ridiculously happy; her eyes slip shut and she butts her head further into your prongs.

Dave looks irrationally smug, as though he has made some great achievement. Actually, you think with furrowed brows and dawning realization, he looks like a proud lusus whose charge has accomplished some great challenge.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, abandoning the beast in favor of your husktop.

CG: HOLY SHIT, I FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT!  
CG: WOW, I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS HOOFBEASTSHIT.  
TG: what is it  
CG: YOU GUYS ARE LUSII!!  
CG: NOW EVERYTHING IS MAKING SENSE.  
CG: WHY YOU’RE SO HUNG UP ABOUT THIS SMALL PITIFUL CREATURE  
CG: WHY YOU’RE TAKING CARE OF IT WITH SUCH DETERMINATION  
TG: what  
CG: NO, IT MAKES COMPLETE SENSE.  
CG: IT’S FUCKING HILARIOUS, BUT EVERYTHING IS UNDERSTANDABLE NOW.  
CG: OH MAN, I CAN’T WAIT TO TELL KANAYA AND TEREZI ABOUT THIS DISCOVERY.  
TG: uh   
TG: arent lususes or whatever like big and super white  
CG: ABOUT. WHY?  
TG: karkat do i look like a big white beast to you  
CG: DAVE, JUST BECAUSE YOU DON’T *LOOK* LIKE A LUSUS DOESN’T MEAN YOU DON'T ACT LIKE ONE.  
CG: GOD, I AM SO THANKFUL I FIGURED THIS OUT.   
CG: I MEAN, IT’S STILL A LITTLE WEIRD, BUT, YOU KNOW.  
CG: ALIENS, AM I RIGHT?  
TG: no karkat you are NOT right  
TG: you are about as far from right as you can get  
TG: way way in the negatives  
TG: like youre heading straight into negative infinity you are so wrong  
CG: HOW AM I WRONG? YOU WANT TO PROTECT THIS THING, RIGHT?  
TG: uh i guess  
CG: YOU WANT WHAT’S BEST FOR HER, RIGHT? YOU DON'T WANT ANYTHING BAD TO HAPPEN TO HER?  
TG: well i mean  
TG: yeah  
CG: DAVE, I HATE TO BE THE BEARER OF BAD NEWS, BUT THAT IS LITERALLY A LUSUS. WELL, A GOOD ONE. NOT ALL LUSII ARE LIKE THAT, I GUESS.  
TG: karkat im not a fucking lusus  
TG: you know what fuck this  
TG: so i got word from the cap and he says we gotta meet with the quartermaster  
TG: whatever that is  
TG: apparently they will have our rooms for us and everything  
CG: DAVE, YOU ARE NOT BACKING OUT OF THIS CONVERSATION SO EASILY.   
TG: what the hell do you want me to say karkat  
TG: that youre right and i do want this cat to live a happy long life?  
TG: fucking fine youre 100% correct i do in actuality want this cat to have her litter of kittens and live  
TG: wow how parent like of me that ill want another animal to be happy and survive to purr another day  
TG: its not like i know how that feels to actually be wanted and loved and   
TG: fuck me  
TG: look lets just go ok i wanna go to sleep for like two days  
Dave scoops Rainbow into his arms and stands. Pointedly keeping his eyes away from you, he strides to the door.

Shit. _How_ do you always manage to stick your strut pod into your meal tunnel around him? You did not mean to offend or cause any undue harm, but it seems that the teasing has hit him on a whole new level. As per fucking usual. You quickly captchalogue your husktop and scramble to your feet, following Dave as he steps into the hallway.

“Dammit, Dave,” you say to his back. “Let me at least fucking apologize for whatever shit statement I said that made you leave in a huff.” You follow this with a low, base growl of offense, but you do not believe that humans are physically capable of hearing subvocal communication. Not that he is likely to understand what it means anyway.

You reflect on these last couple of days. First, your best buddy went on a rampage and murdered your other buddies. Sure, you were not on good terms with Equius and, in fact, think that he was a major, conceited douchebag that had been antagonizing you and your other lowblooded friends for almost your whole life, but the guy was still your friend. And Nepeta...You think there was something there; you liked her and she seemed to think you were pretty swell, which is always nice. 

Secondly, you have been launched into an entirely new universe and are locked in its cold, unforgiving grip with Dave. 

Third, you are _tired_.

Dave leads you through winding corridors and, Jesus, you still cannot get over how many adults you are surrounded by. You had never met an adult in person, and now you are practically _swimming_ in them. Sure, you would have met them eventually, when you became an adult. That day was very far away, though, and there had still been no guarantee that you would have actually, completely, made it through the initial screening, considering your mutation. But hey! The hemospectrum no longer matters, and none of your (surviving) friends would give two flying shits about it in the first place! 

You and Dave make a pit stop to return Rainbow to the room she is kept in, then continue on your way. There are strands of creamy fur sticking stubbornly to his sleeves, and you plan to tease him for it at the earliest opportunity. For now, you follow Dave through the ship. How he knows where to go will remain a mystery for the whole of your pathetic existence, but he seems confident in his steps. 

Things go to shit as soon as you step out of the lift. 

The deck you find yourself on is empty. This is unusual because the ship seems to have enough people to populate a town. Typically, you pass at least two people in the corridors, even if they are simply walking past to attend to whatever it is they do on this hunk of metal. You have been walking for a few minutes, but you have yet to pass a soul. 

“Where the hell is everyone?” you wonder.

Dave makes a sound of agreement, but steps out into the corridor regardless. 

All of your instincts are screaming that there is something amiss, and your prongs twitch, preparing to wield your sickles. By the miracle of the Condesce, Dave shows more of the battle training you saw evidence of during your one spar (which had ended _so_ spectacularly), because he pauses at the corner of this corridor. He holds his arm up in a “hold” gesture, then peers around the corner. The coast must be clear, because he slides past the corner and into the neighboring corridor. 

He says something quietly and you prepare to cuff him over the head for making noise, but pause when the automatic computer response system pipes up. When you first heard it, you were surprised that human ships had something similar to a Helmsman, but you suppose you should not have been. You wonder if the Helmsman powers the ship as well. 

Dave nods at whatever the computer said, then indicates that the coast is clear. And disturbingly, he _smirks_ at you. You have no freaking idea what in the hell is so _funny_ about this situation that he would smirk, so you make a subvocal growl that means displeasure. 

Maybe there is a monster loose on this deck, you violently think at him. Maybe there has been some sort of gas leak and _normal_ people, those who are not at the highest echeladder and are, therefore, regular mortals will instantly die when in contact with the undetectable and unknown gas.

Or maybe it is because Charlie Evans is stomping down the hallway.

Dave hooks his prongs in the neck of your hoodie, and pulls you away from the corner. The two of you quickly and silently backtrack, Dave muttering frantically under his breath. You reach the end of the corridor and slide around the corner, putting your backs against the wall.

Charlie was not going into this hallway, you tell yourself. He was simply passing it. You are safe. 

You listen hard for the sound of boots, and tense as you realize they are getting closer.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, leaning the back of your head against the wall. “Fuck me stupid.”

Dave says something unusually harsh for his soft-sounding language, then converses briefly with the computer. He uncaptachlogues his broken sword (which, come on, why does he even have a _broken sword_ , that must be hell to wield in any sort of manageable manner), and shifts into a fighting stance. You do the same, gripping the sickles tightly. Dave’s lips purse and he shakes his head at you. He points down the hall and you do not need Trollian to understand what he says. 

You trill denial and follow it with, “And fuck you for suggesting that.” 

He clenches his jaw, obviously displeased, but nods. He readjusts his grip and you prepare for attack.

Dave makes his move the second Charlie crosses past the corner. He hooks his foot around Charlie’s ankle and tugs _just so_ , causing Charlie to yelp and fall to the ground flat on his face. The sharp edge of Dave’s sword presses to the back of Charlie’s neck and Dave is speaking softly to him. You take a place near Charlie’s hip, sickles raised and wondering if you have the guts to kill him. 

Maybe it will not come to that, you think feebly. Maybe Charlie will stay peacefully on the ground while the adults come to pick him up (because you are fairly sure that Dave was informing the computer of the situation which will, in turn, alert the adults). Maybe, you think optimistically, no one will die.

Then, Charlie flicks his eyes to you and you feel every muscle in your body lock up without your permission. Even breathing is a chore. You attempt to make a sound of warning, but the growl will not vocalize. Dave is on his own, now. 

Whatever Charlie did to you, he must have done the same to Dave, because Charlie easily wriggles out of Dave’s frozen grip. He has a frightening look on his face, petulant and angry, like a wiggler. He pouts at Dave and his attention is so focused on him, he does not notice as a huge red gear slides silently into existence, so big its teeth brush the ceiling of the room. It spins sullenly, and you see another Dave step out of its center, holding his sword in a white-knuckled grip. He has lost his douchebag sunglasses, so you can see the blood trailing like tears down his cheeks, the same candy-red shade of your own.

The next sequence of events happens quickly. 

1\. Dave from the future staggers drunkenly closer, shakily raising his sword.

2\. Charlie psychically attacks present Dave while you can do nothing but watch (this seems to be a recurring theme).

3\. Future Dave hits Charlie upside the head with the hilt of his sword, with all of the force of a battering ram and Charlie falls, unconscious.

4\. Present Dave’s body becomes briefly translucent and shivery, as though he were a mirage. It solidifies when the future Dave knocks Charlie unconscious, and Dave slumps to the ground. This is different to what happened before in the training room; then, Dave’s body had flickered, as though attempting to disappear entirely. He had vanished for three seconds, only to reappear outwardly whole.

Whatever force Charlie was using to hold you is released when future Dave knocks him unconscious, and you regain your balance. Then, since future Dave is still standing, you rush to to present Dave. He is sprawled on his front, one arm squished beneath him, the other above his head where his prongs brush the hilt of his stupid sword. You grip his shoulder and shake him once.

“Dhaev,” you say, trying not to panic. “Dhaev, wake up. Please wake up, just look at me or something. Come _on_ , open your eyes.”

Dave groans. He turns his head towards you, stumbles over words you cannot understand. He fights to his elbows, whining low in his throat, but his arms will not support him.

“No, oh for fuck’s sake, why are you trying to get up? You shit, stay down.” You place your sickles aside, put your palms on Dave’s back and try to keep him from moving. He struggles against you, trying to shrug off your hands. It is clear he would sooner injure himself than stay put. You snarl, “Fine, Jesus bug-winged fuck,” and assist him with sitting.

You do most of the work, and Dave can damn well suck it because you lean him carefully against the wall. Dave’s head lolls alarmingly, and he gropes for his sunglasses. He gets them in a loose, trembling grip, then gives them to you.

“What—? No, I don’t want the damn glasses Dhaev, what the fuck?” Still, he shoves them at your abdomen and you take them to make him stop. That does not seems to be what he wants because he rolls bloodshot eyes—red as yours will someday be, you note incredulously—and pushes your hand to your face, gesturing at his eyes. Blood drools out of the corner of his right eye and oozes down the curve of his cheek. 

“Do you want me to put them on?” you ask.

He points at his eyes again, then at yours. You put the sunglasses on. 

TG: ill b fine k  
TG: g2g  
TG: cptn will b hre soon  
TG: chill thats me nxt 2 charlie  
TG: brb 

“What? Dhaev, you’re not going anywhere, you _can’t_ ,” you say, refocusing on Dave. He must think that you do not understand, because he points a shaking prong at the future Dave, less than five feet away. Future Dave waves with his sword arm and loses his grip, causing it to clatter loudly on the floor, less than an inch from Charlie’s ear. Both Daves look at it blankly.

“Don’t—Stay _here_ , dammit!” you hiss and reach for him, intending to sit on him if it will keep him from doing something stupid, but a gear is already shining behind him. It winds counterclockwise and Dave disappears. “Fucking nook-eating shit!” You slap the ground where he was and grind your teeth with frustration, and your throat rumbles with the subvocal communication for extreme anger. 

“Karrkt,” Dave coughs from his position next to the wall. He sways dangerously. You scramble to your feet, anger forgotten, and have a shoulder under his armpit. He leans all of his weight on you, coughing wetly into your hair. His forehead knocks the sunglasses askew, but you simply move your head out of the way and they resettle. You stumble away from Charlie, down the hall, but must stop when Dave loses his footing. You quickly settle the both of you on the floor, rearranging yourselves so that Dave has his head tucked under your chin and is half-in your lap.

“Shut up,” you say softly. “Just…Stop talking.”

After that, it is simply a matter of waiting for the other humans.

In the meanwhile, you try to keep Dave awake. 

“Dhaev,” you say through the constant trill of fear. “Dhaev, keep your eyes open.” He is quickly becoming unresponsive. You unthinkingly pap his cheek several times, but all that does is cause his head to loll listlessly against your shoulder. You shake him as roughly as you dare—which, truthfully, is about as roughly as Tavros at his most gentle.

You repeatedly call Dave’s name, trying not to sound increasingly frantic, and Dave’s eyes eventually flutter. It is brief, but you seize on it like a purrbeast on a cheese critter. “Dhaev, I fucking saw that, I saw you flash your eyelashes at me, don’t deny it. Now, come on, do it one more time, Dhaev. There we go, show me those really fucking weird eyes of yours again.”

He does. He opens his eyes and looks you dead in the eye. When he talks, his voice is raspy. It sounds a little like the subvocal communication for happiness. Humans do not do subvocal communication, you tell yourself firmly. Even so, you find you have to fight back the inaccurate assumption that he is happy to be grievously injured.

“Yeah, I don’t have a damn clue what you’re saying, but keep talking,” you order. 

Dave pats your hand clumsily, then weakly smiles. There are blood-tinged bubbles forming at the corners of his mouth.

As Dave’s hand becomes limp, you hear boots thundering somewhere behind you. “Here!” you screech. “We’re over here! Oh my God, oh God, I think he’s dying. Dhaev, wake up. You were awake a second ago, you can’t die.”

Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Uhura, Commander Spot, and two unfamiliar humans in red shirts barrel into view. Doctor McCoy kneels in front of you, scanning Dave with a hand-held device. Lieutenant Uhura settles next to you and speaks in low tones to McCoy while Kirk watches over the detaining of Charlie. 

Uhura had made great progress with Alternian. She is a phenomenal student for having begun learning a brand new language in, like, two days. “Happen what?” Her pronunciation is surprisingly accurate, for a creature who is incapable of subvocal communication.

“I don’t know,” you say, watching McCoy carefully. “We were going to the quartermaster, but we ran into Charlie. He did something to Dave and he’s not responding to me anymore. What do I do? Is he going to be okay?”

“I—slower? Understand not. Charlie ran you?”

You swallow, reminding yourself to use simple words. “Charlie found us. Did something to Dave. Like before.”

Uhura nods, converses with McCoy. “How long, ah, sleep? Wake no?”

“How long was he awake? He literally just stopped responding to me.”

“Okay. Hurt was when?”

“I don’t fucking know. I’m not keeping count of every goddamn second,” you say harshly. “Look, just. A few minutes, I guess.”

She relays this to McCoy. Then, speaks briefly with Kirk. “Okay. Okay, take to, ah, healing place? Will care Dave. Okay, be Dave,” she adds soothingly. “Will, will... move? Move fast to healing place. Okay?”

You do not wish to be separated from Dave (who _knows_ what these people will do to him if you are not around to growl at them?), but his health is more important than your discomfort. You nod and Uhura speaks briefly with McCoy, who taps the pendent on his chest. 

This, of course, is about when a _giant green head pops into the middle of the Condescedamned hallway_.

Sometimes, you hate everything about your life.

 

Nyota has not been having the best few weeks of her life.

She and Spock are going through a rough patch in their relationship (a rough patch that is shaped exactly like Kirk, she’s beginning to realize), she found a frightened boy holding on to his dying friend in dead space, they picked up another boy who turned out to be not nearly as friendly as the two fast-talking boys they picked up, and, oh, it also turns out that Thesians are not, in actuality, an extinct species lost to the tombs of time.

Karkat makes a rapid clicking noise that Uhura is beginning to realize means impatience, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. “Hey. _What_ healing place?” 

“Ah,” says Uhura. “Will move you, Dave. You _and_ Dave. Will—” Here, she pauses, trying to find any way to properly convey the beaming process. Finding none, she presses her palms together, then rapidly spreads her hands, making a _whoosh_ sound. When Karkat shows no sign of understanding, she attempts to imitate Karkat’s click-hiss of impatience. She points at Karkat, then the ground. “Here, you are—"

Leonard interrupts. “Do this later, Uhura, I’ve lost his heartbeat. McCoy to transporter room, we need an emergency beaming to medbay.”

“Beginning process now,” assures Scotty quickly. She waits, but nothing happens. Leonard smacks his pin, says harshly, “Now, Scott!”

“I am! Everything’s in working order, I’m locking on and everything! It’s just—it’s not beaming you over. I don’t understand why it isn’t working!” 

Nyota, as well as most of the Federation, has heard legends of the planet Thesia. It is well-known for the disappearance of the powerful race that once called the planet home. An entire civilization, gone, with no known proof as to how or why. She has been witness to enough debates between Spock and Leonard on the subject, and has even been the star of such battles herself to know of all of the theories. Spock has a special interest in the subject, and she is more than willing to engage him in the matter.

But there in front of her very eyes, floats a legend. He looks humanoid, she notes. Old and bearded. 

“We had gifted to the boy the power of the Thesian,” says the green floating head in the middle of the hallway. “We had thought to help him survive. But he has grown dangerous with it, and we will return what he has taken. Then, we shall take him to Thesia, and he shall not disturb your people.”

Nyota does not like Charlie. He is greedy in his affections, and hurtful of others. He is mean and he has no regard for the opinion of his peers. More than that, he has a power that is nearly uncontrollable, and he knows it and has used it to suit his needs. He is seventeen years old, nearly full-grown, his habits and his personality mostly set. 

Still, he is a human boy and humans need contact with other sentient life forms. 

Her captain (and, God, that still weirds her out to think about, no matter how many years it has been since he took command) seems to be under the same reservations. “What will happen to him, once he’s back on the planet Thesia? How will his needs be met?”

The Thesian replies coolly, “He will be detained on the surface of the planet for the remainder of his life. As your species have not yet ascended to a higher plane of existence, there will be little contact between our two peoples, except that which will keep him alive.”

“Are you aware of the dangers growing up in isolation can pose to a human?” says Spock, a touch harshly. “Humans have something similar to pack mentality. They need other life forms to interact with in order to be emotionally balanced and healthy. Touch in particular is a vital component. You say you no longer need a physical body; have you forgotten the physical limitations needed for long, beneficial life?”

“It matters not. We will take him—”

“It _matters not_?” Jim interrupts.

Nyota has seen many things since Jim assumed captaincy of the Enterprise, but she has never seen Jim so angry. He is coiled tight, as though preparing to launch himself at the floating head of a species thought to be extinct. He has a tight look to him, lips thin and expression hard. 

"A healthy, adult human loses touch with their mind barely a month into isolation,” he says, voice hard. “It can take years of rehabilitation before they’re mentally capable of the strain of reacting with other humans on a daily basis again. Years. But adolescents, like Charlie? Yes, they are exceptional in a lot of ways, and they are capable of recovering from horrific events, but it can detrimentally affect their development. What you are doing to Charlie, what you did to him... You may think you were helping him, but what you were really doing is harming him.”

“Jim,” Leonard calls from the position next to Dave. “The transporter isn’t working. The beaming is being blocked somehow.”

Jim gives the Thesian a narrowed-eyed, suspicious look. Then, bluntly, “Do you have something to do with this?”

“Yes,” he replies. “What business have you with the Hero of Time?”

“He’s not a hero of anything,” Leonard snaps as Jim says, “How do you know of Dave Strider?”

“The being whom you call Dave Strider is the Hero and the Knight of Time. He and his fellow Heroes, those of Breath, of Light, and of Space are of great importance to my people and, I think, to many more besides. Should he pass to the Void, it shall be by the will of the universe, not that of the living.”

“He is a _boy_ ,” says Leonard. 

“Perhaps,” the Thesian replies. “But this boy and his comrades are creations from the will of the Void, therefore his fate is not for us to decide.”

 _What kind of bullshit is this person spewing_? Nyota thinks savagely. 

“What kind of backwards logic is that?” Leonard spits. “Uhura, grab Dave’s legs, Karkat, get his shoulders. We’re manually moving him.”

Nyota rushes to follow, haltingly telling Karkat to do the same. But as she moves, her limbs freeze, and no matter how hard she tries, she cannot move them. When she flicks her eyes to study her two companions, the only part of her she can move, she observes that they are in the same condition. 

“What have you done?” Jim snaps.

“Release them,” Spock says, voice tight.

“I have prevented your subordinates from interfering with the Hero,” the Thesian says.

“You’re going to let Dave die? Let them go, _now_.”

“It matters not,” says the Thesian, careless. “For the Hero is at the mercy of the Void. Wait but a moment, and you shall—Ah. It begins.”

As Nyota watches, frozen and helpless, what appears to be a solid gear melts into place behind Dave’s lifeless body. It has intricate symbols etched and flowing into the shining red of its surface, and as it moves, the symbols, drawn with utmost care, seem to flow with it. The gear itself is a huge timepiece, easily reaching the top of the corridor, which is no laughable feat. Its teeth brush the limp fabric of Dave’s cape, and as she watches, Dave rises into the air, as though a piece of the gear is hidden within him and follows its movement.

For just a moment, Nyota does not see a thirteen year old boy, dead at her feet. She does not see a boy who smiles like it is something new or who spends his whole day tending to an expecting cat. Instead, as the gear spins inexhaustible and benevolent behind him, she sees something that she cannot explain. 

She sees not a man, but a force of nature.

Then, his feet touch the ground, his eyes open, and a boy blinks, confused, at those surrounding him. 

“Oh, shit,” he says, sounding a little dazed. “Did I just die again or somethin’?” 

Leonard, having risen to his feet (as had herself and Karkat, though she did not realize until this moment) as Dave had been... _revived _, for lack of a better term, is scanning Dave with an expression of banked disbelief. Karkat grips Dave’s shoulders with tight, fairly shaky fingers, and his throat is working in what Nyota is betting to be extreme concern. The alien scans his companion, likely for any further injury, but Dave’s face is clean of the blood that spilled like tears down his cheeks and is without the tinge of red in the corners of his lips.__

__“You’re a fucking idiot,” Karkat tells hims through the constant gurgling chirps. “For the last Condesce-damned time, _stop dying_.” He gives one more firm, if gentle shake, then releases him._ _

__“Uh,” says Dave, rubbing a shoulder. “Right back atcha. But seriously, what happened?”_ _

__“Karkat told me the two of you ran into Charlie while you were going somewhere,” Nyota informs him. “You had some sort of altercation before we managed to find you.”_ _

__Dave nods. “Sounds ‘bout right.” He turns and catches sight of Charlie, laying prone on the ground some feet away. “Oh, cool. I guess I _did_ get him. Go me.” Then, he sees the Thesian and does a visible double-take. “Uh, what’s with the floating head?”_ _

__“I am of the planet Thesia. I am here to retrieve Charlie Evans and return to your companions the things he has taken.”_ _

__“Oh. Well, I’m down with that.”_ _

__“Just a moment,” Jim says. “Is there some way to prevent Charlie from using his... gift?”_ _

__Dave squints, and his brows slightly furrow. “You’d do that to him?” he says, voice soft. “You’d prevent him from using his powers?”_ _

__Spock and Nyota exchange glances. There is something tense in the air, now. Even Karkat senses it, and he slides into place beside Dave, fingers curled and eyes watchful behind Dave’s sunglasses._ _

__Jim must realize he is on unstable ground. He pauses, watches Dave with a cool gaze. “If it was to prevent him from living a life in complete isolation, yes. I’d keep his powers from him.”_ _

__There is a short pause. “Not bein’ able to feel his powers.” Dave’s voice is far away. “That might be worse.”_ _

__“It would be an impossible endeavor,” says the Thesian. “The gifts of the Thesia are eternal. We can, however, prevent the boy from using them. He will have them, certainly, but shall be unable to access them.”_ _

__For some reason, this seems to reassure Dave. “So, he’ll have ‘em, but he just can’t use ‘em?”_ _

__“This is correct.”_ _

__Dave shrugs. “Aight. I can dig it.”_ _

__“This is your wish as the Hero of Time?” the Thesian says. “For Charlie Evans to remain here, his gift within his grasp, yet unable to utilize it?”_ _

__“Yeah, sure,” Dave says carelessly._ _

__“So the Hero has said, so it shall it be.” And with that, the Thesian is gone, disappearing like a mirage._ _

__“What?” Dave says as everyone stares._ _


End file.
